The Wish of Three Hearts
by 9kodama
Summary: AU Post season 7/end season 6. Tara's been dead for three years. On Tara's birthday, Willow drives out to the remains of crater that was once Sunnydale California to talk to her lost love. She makes a wish, and everything changes. This is a W/T fic.
1. Chapter 1

**The Wish of Three Hearts**

Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Fox, and many other powerful entities. I am just a visitor in this world—please don't sue me.

(AU post Season Seven. On Tara's birthday, three years after her death, Willow drives out to the canyon that used to be Sunnydale California to talk to her lost love. Her devotion to Tara will unlock a rite that has been lost for millennia and change her life forever. _A Willow and Tara fic._ )

_Chapter One_

Sun Canyon was quiet and bathed in light. A cool wind blew from the south, carrying the scent of the Pacific. Birds wheeled in the air above the chasm that was once Sunnydale CA, a gulf in the earth now green with grasses and bright with wildflowers in a riot of color—the butter-orange of golden pansies, the pinks, blues and whites of puffy cornflowers, the purple spray of clover blooms. The only sounds were the cry of the distant birds and wind whistling through the long grass. Thin ribbons of white cloud, pale against the cerulean sky, moved high and fast in the gusts from the sea.

The serenity of the canyon was broken by the crunch of tires on gravel. A jeep was rolling up the overgrown remains of the highway to Sunnydale, bouncing on ridges of grass-threaded asphalt. The jeep rolled to a halt beneath an old oak with branches that drooped toward the ground. When the engine stopped the wind kicked up, and the branches seemed to draw closer to the vehicle, as if offering comfort, shelter.

The driver's door of the jeep opened and a slender woman stepped out, clutching a small white box to her chest. As she walked beneath the oak the woman trailed one hand up against the branches, letting the leaves flutter beneath her fingertips. She was simply dressed, clothed in brown leather boots, blue jeans, and a pale, cream-colored sweater. When she moved out of the shadow of the oak the woman paused, raising a hand above her face to shield her eyes from the rising sun as she stared out over the canyon that had once been her home.

After a moment, Willow Rosenberg bowed her head and strode toward the edge of Sun Canyon, her red hair blazing in the light.

...

"Willow left already?"

Buffy looked up from her cup of coffee. Her sister, Dawn, was standing in the entryway to their apartment's small kitchen, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Yeah, she headed out a few hours ago."

"I wish she would've let one of us go with her," Dawn murmured, crossing the kitchen in a step and lifting the coffee pot to pour a cup for herself. "She shouldn't be alone, not today."

"I know," Buffy replied, laying her hand on Dawn's wrist. "But it's what Will wants." She paused and looked up at her younger sister with mock severity. "And don't drink coffee, it'll stunt your growth."

Dawn smiled faintly at her sister's attempt at a joke. Not yet nineteen, she towered over Buffy by more than half a foot. "Thanks, Buffy."

"Hey, it's what I do."

...

When she reached the edge of the canyon, Willow sat down in the long grass, still cradling the small white box she carried against her chest. She crossed her legs and let the weight of her body settle against the earth, trying to pull comfort from her connection to the life she felt moving through the world.

"I know it's early for our visit," she said softly. "But I'll still come this Friday too, I just couldn't miss your—" Willow face crumpled and her breath hitched in her chest. "Your big day."

She took a few deep breaths and transferred the box she held into her right hand, reaching up with her left to brush tears from her cheeks.

"So, I know it's only been a couple of days, but I still have some news. The new apartment is officially unpacked; we emptied out the last box yesterday. It's nice to be in our own place, finally, but I still miss—" Willow took a shuddering breath, fighting tears when she thought of the room she'd once shared with Tara.

"You know. Our place. Where I didn't have to be brave." She sighed. "Anyway, that last box. Of course, Buffy and Dawnie fought over where to hang the pictures that were in it, but we got it worked out in the end.

"We hung that picture of us all together, at Christmas, before, before Joyce—" Willow shook her head. "Well, anyway, we hung it over the little fireplace in the living room. Everything is little in that place," she chuckled, "Well, except Dawnie. I think she grew another three inches yesterday.

"We put the rest of the pictures in the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, we went in alphabetical order by first name. Buffy said it was to be fair, but I think she was just happy that she'd be first, well, after the picture we have of Anya. It worked out just right though, because there's a picture of you and I, back at UCS, right next to my bedroom door. I get to see your face every night before I go to sleep and first thing when I wake up in the morning."

She found herself fighting tears again. Willow took a deep breath to cleanse her mind, and looked out over the valley. The view had changed so much in the past three years, the rubble and debris hidden, softened by layers of earth and vegetation. It was strange to see beauty overtake destruction in such a short time. She wondered where, in those leagues of grass, her lover's body had come to rest.

"Well, that's enough of me-babble. You'll be happy to know that I managed to get us unpacked and organized without pulling out the multicolor pens. Well," she confessed. "I used blue and green. But not to be organized, just because those are you favorite colors." She paused, and bowed her head. "Were your favorite colors..."

Willow sat in silence for a long while. She could feel the sun creeping up the sky, warm on her cheek, on the top of her head. She didn't move, didn't blink, until the alarm on her watch chimed.

As it beeped its reminder, Willow unfolded the box she'd been holding. Inside was a single chocolate cupcake, frosted in a swirl of green and blue. Perched on top of it was a bright pink shrimp made of fondant.

"It's October 16th, 2005. Twenty-five years ago, today, at this very moment, you came into the world. I'm so glad that I can celebrate that day. And look baby," she said, laughing as she cried. "I took a cake decorating class just so I could make this for you. It's a shrimp you can actually eat. I thought you'd like that, conquering shrimp allergies via frosting, chocolate-flavored, not shrimp-flavored. That would be weird, and ineffective." She tried to smile, but a sob slipped out.

She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a candle and a lighter. She laid the lighter on her leg and then gently pressed the candle into the dome of frosting, so that it was propped against the shrimp.

"There."

Willow's hand shook as she reached out with the lighter. When the candle blazed into life she slipped the lighter back into her pocket.

"Happy birthday, baby," Willow whispered. "I'm going to make a wish for you, I know you won't mind."

She raised the cupcake to her lips and blew gently. The candle flame fluttered for a moment and then went out, leaving a thin, winding curl of smoke in the air.

Suddenly all she could see was Tara's face, glowing in the light of the candle Willow had brought to her, on the night she finally told Tara that she loved her. Tara was so beautiful in the candle's glow, a goddess. She could feel the warmth of Tara's skin beneath her hands, hear her gasps of pleasure as Willow made love to her for the first time, there in Tara's room, in the night, their flesh made silver in the moonlight.

Willow closed her eyes tightly, her brow furrowed with grief. Her shoulders began to shake.

"Oh, Tara," Willow sobbed. Her lovely green eyes flew open and tears streamed down her cheeks. "I miss you so much, baby. I wish you hadn't died."

A hawk called its shrill cry high above Willow's head, and a cloud passed beneath the sun, leaving her in shadow. It was as if the world itself called out with her grief.

...

At the same moment, in a small apartment on the north side of LA, Dawn burst into tears staring into the refrigerator.

"What is it?" Buffy asked, moving around the kitchen island and placing an arm around her sister's shoulders.

"Look," Dawn replied, tears still falling. "Look what at Willow did."

Every free space in the refrigerator was filled with cupcakes. Little shrimps in varying levels of deformity perched on top of each one, except for two, up in the top of the door where the eggs were supposed to go, that were perfect.

"Oh Will," Buffy sighed.

"She should've said something. I would've helped her bake, or clean up, or—"

"I know you would've, Dawnie." Buffy laid a hand across her sister's back. "She must've wanted to—needed to, do something special, on her own."

"Buffy," Dawn cried, turning and throwing her arms around her sister, mourning the woman she'd loved like a mother after Joyce's death. "I wish Tara hadn't died. I wish she was still with us."

Buffy felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I wish it too, Dawn. I wish it too."

...

It started as warmth, flowing up from the ground, into her legs, through her chest. Willow tried to calm her crying, catch her breath, afraid that she was hyperventilating. But then the wind stopped, and the birds fell silent. The warmth in her body increased, flowing up her neck, through her blood.

Willow looked up and stared at a hummingbird, jewel-green, frozen less than a foot from her face. She stood and spun around. There was a squirrel motionless on the side of the oak tree by the jeep. A hawk, stilled mid-turn, hung high above her head.

"What—"

The sense of warmth became overpowering. Tara's cupcake tumbled out of Willow's hands onto the ground. Out of her glowing hands. Willow felt a current, as if all the energies of the earth had been gathered up into a river that flowed directly into the core of her being. As white light flooded out of her fingertips, her mouth, her eyes, she rose up off of the ground and began spinning in a gentle circle. She felt like she should be afraid, but there wasn't any fear. There was just warmth. She was being held aloft in a wave of comfort, solace.

As the energy coalesced in the air before her, Willow saw a golden form moving within it. Still spinning, she slowly fell back to the ground. As gently as she touched down, she felt utterly drained and stumbled backward, falling onto her knees in the grass.

The light kept growing. The golden swirls pooled, parted, and a woman walked out of the light, a beautiful, curvaceous woman with hair like honey, full lips, and sparkling blue eyes.

"Tara?" Willow whispered.

The figure looked down at Willow and smiled. So much like Tara, but it wasn't her. This woman had a tiny round birthmark, strawberry-red, in the center of her left cheek, and her hair was streaked with gray; there were lines around her mouth and eyes.

"No, sweet Willow," the woman replied. "My name is Jane Maclay. I'm Tara's mother."

"Her mother?" Willow felt dizzy, the energy she'd been feeling still pulsed through her, leaving her gasping. "But, Tara told me that you died."

The golden-haired woman nodded, still smiling that same gorgeous, crooked smile that Willow had always loved to see on Tara's face. "That's right."

"But why—how are you here?"

"I'm here because my daughter has been so well-loved. I want to thank you for that, Willow. After my death she was left on her own, but when she found you, she found a family again. As for the how, my answer is the same.

"You have all loved Tara so much, so well, that a miracle, a magic, has happened that hasn't been seen in millennia. The Ter Sis Animi has been invoked."

"Ter Sis," Willow began. "I don't understand." She struggled to her feet and walked closer to the ghost of Tara's mother, amazed by the warmth she could feel radiating from the woman, winding with the energy of her own soul.

"The Ter Sis Animi is a gift, Willow, a rite, one powered by the force of true and undying love. And even though you and Tara hurt one-another at times, it doesn't change the fact that you are soul mates, one soul bound in two bodies. Because you have come here, on this day, at this time, and remembered Tara, because the family that you helped her to find calls out with their shared grief, you can have your wish."

"My wish?" It took a moment for her to understand, but then Willow's face was transformed with joy. The weight of the past three years of sorrow melted away from her in an instant. "I can have Tara back?"

Jane Maclay smiled at Willow's happiness, taking the young woman's hands in her own and flooding Willow with warmth.

"With the Ter Sis Animi invoked," she intoned, "With three hearts calling out in pure and honest love, time can be changed. Tara can be saved."

"Please," Willow begged, tears streaming down her face.

Before she could finish, her lover's mother pressed a finger against her lips.

"Willow, Tara can be saved, but there will be a price. All the wrongs that were done in the wake of my daughter's death must be repaid."

"Anything," Willow replied. "I will do—" She paused and her face fell. "Wait, I promised Tara that I wouldn't do this anymore, this black magic." Another, more terrible thought hit her, left her gasping. "Will I be hurting her? Will it be like it was for Buffy?" Willow gave a little sob. "Will I be pulling her out of heaven?"

Jane smiled at Willow kindly and held her arms out, gathering the weeping woman into her embrace.

"This isn't dark magic, Willow. This is the lifeblood of all the bright goddesses of the earth, working their will together, to invoke the Wish of Three Hearts. Tara won't be hurt. Besides," Jane continued. "She's not in heaven."

Willow slipped out of Jane Maclay's embrace, horrified. "Tara was a good person, the best of all of us, why, why isn't she—"

"She's waiting for you, Willow." Jane reached out a brushed a lock of sweaty red hair away from Willow's eyes. "There is a place, between earth and heaven, where powerful witches can channel their souls, to watch over and wait for those who love them."

"Tara can see me?" Willow looked around herself wildly, struck with a sudden shame. "She saw what happened between me and—" She couldn't bring herself to say the name of the woman who had tried and failed to mend her broken heart.

Tara's mother tilted her head, still gracing Willow with her gentle smile. "Tara rejoices in your joy and grieves with you when you feel sorrow. She isn't angry or hurt that you tried to find love again, Willow. She knows it never diminished the way you felt for her. She never wanted you to be lonely."

Willow felt like a gulf opened at her feet. She sank back to her knees. "But I am alone!" She cried. "Every second of every day that Tara isn't with me, I'm alone. I look at the world, I move through it, and I turn to her to share it all with her, and she isn't there! I am so lonely!" She curled up on the ground, wracked with sobs that tore from her painfully.

She felt herself gathered into the spirit-woman's arms, held like an infant against her chest.

"She can be with you again, Willow. You've made that possible. Now, will you repay the debt?"

Willow nodded, clutching at Tara's mother. "Anything. I will do anything to have Tara with me again." She felt Tara's mother brush tears from her cheek.

"So be it. Close your eyes, Willow."

The two women disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light. Slowly, sound returned to the world. The hummingbird's wings pulsed. In pursuit of nectar, it flew off into the beautiful town of Sunnydale, CA.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Wish of Three Hearts**

Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Fox, and many other powerful entities. I am just a visitor in this world—please don't sue me.

(AU post Season Seven. On Tara's birthday, three years after her death, Willow drives out to the canyon that used to be Sunnydale California to talk to her lost love. Her devotion to Tara will unlock a rite that has been lost for millennia and change her life forever. _A Willow and Tara fic._ )

Come What May is the property of David Baerwald. Please don't sue.

This one is Rated M, please be forewarned.

_Chapter Two_

Willow could feel the warmth beating through her body, still feel arms wrapped around her, protecting her. She stirred and her cheek brushed warm, soft flesh.

"Are you awake, Will?"

Willow froze, clutching the arms the held her. She was afraid to open her eyes, afraid that she had been dreaming.

"Come on, sleepy head, it's getting late."

Willow felt a kiss on her forehead, her cheek, the soft, sweet brush of lips against her lips.

Willow opened her eyes.

The light in the room was blinding, as she blinked against the shock of it, the deep red sheet she was wrapped in came into focus. They'd picked the sheets, she and Tara, red with a gold trim and crazy golden paisley patterns, because Tara liked the name on the package—Cinnamon Wine. The sheets wound around Willow's pale legs, against her chest, under the flawless peaches-and-cream arms wrapped around her. Willow took in a deep breath. The air smelled of honeysuckle.

"Welcome back to the world, sleepy girl." The woman's voice was a sweet purr, so melodic; it was a voice that Willow hadn't heard in over three years.

Willow looked up to see Tara smiling down at her. She was cradling Willow in her arms.

"Baby—" Tara began.

Willow sat up in bed and took Tara's face in her hands. "You're here," she said softly. The light coming through their window made Tara's hair blaze like a halo.

Tara smiled. "I'm here."

Willow took in a huge, shuddering breath. A lifetime's grief had built in her over the past three years, and it was all fighting its way out of her.

"You were gone," Willow said, it the words slipping from her between gasps, sobs. "You were gone, but now you're here, you're with me." She burst into tears, harsh, wrenching cries that left her shaking. Willow pulled herself against Tara.

"Willow," Tara sighed, holding her close and running a hand down her lover's hair. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry. Please, no tears, I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours remember? Always."

Willow saw Tara lying in her arms, her face as peaceful as if she were sleeping, mouth hanging open and golden hair streaming, but her chest torn open by gunfire. She saw her own hand, tracing Tara's name on a tombstone.

"Please don't leave me," Willow begged, "Please, please be real. This can't just be a dream. I can't do it anymore. I can't live without you."

"Willow," Tara said. She tried to sit up, but Willow sobbed again, pulling her closer. "Willow, you have to look at me." Tara gently untangled herself from her lover's panicked embrace and held her hands. "Look at me, baby."

Willow felt the warmth of Tara's hands in her own. She looked and saw the beautiful blue eyes of her lover, her soul mate, staring down at her, at Tara's brow, furrowed with worry.

"We're here, this is real. You woke up in my arms yesterday; you woke up in them again today. And if it's up to me, that's how every day will start for the rest of our lives." Tara paused and wiped the tears off of Willow's cheeks. "I can't believe you forgot yesterday anyway," She continued, trying to tease a smile out of her love. "Its not every day that Dawnie catches me walking around n-naked in a sheet."

"Oh god, Tara," Willow murmured, throwing her arms around her lover's neck, reveling in the warmth of their bodies pressed together. Her body shook with another sob. She'd never thought she would feel this love again, burning in her. "I love you. I missed you so much."

Willow shivered as Tara stroked her fingers down the curve of her spine. "I love you, too." Tara replied.

Willow closed her eyes and just let herself feel the bliss of having Tara with her again, the sweet scent and warmth of her. She could feel Tara's joy, her love, radiating from her skin. There was so much that she had missed, she wanted to touch Tara, to talk to her until the sun fell, till the moon rose, talk to her and touch her and love her until the sun came up again. Tara gave Willow a gentle squeeze and kissed her hair.

"Tara," Willow said.

"Yes love?"

"Will you do something for me?"

Tara chuckled, low and loving. "Anything."

"Sing to me." Willow's voice broke as she asked it. Tara had such a beautiful voice. Their time alone together had always been filled with song, a gift Tara shared only with Willow. The echo of her lover's voice had haunted the long, lonely nights after her death.

Willow tried to push the sad thought away as she sighed and snuggled into Tara's shoulder. The past didn't matter anymore. Tara ran her hand down Willow's hair, stroking it again and again.

Tara hummed at first, just a few bars to warm her throat.

"_Never knew I could feel like this…._ " She began, barely above a whisper.

Willow felt the warm press of Tara's lips on her forehead. She remembered the night they'd gone to see Moulin Rouge together on a double date with Xander and Anya, how she'd held Tara and wept with her as Selene died. Anya had grumbled about the preponderance of mages in France that could have healed consumption in less than twenty-seven seconds, but it had done nothing to spoil the moment.

When Tara began again, she sang to her lover, passion clear in every word_ "Like I've never seen the sky before." _Tara sighed happily and tilted Willow's chin up so she could stare into her lover's eyes.

"_Want to vanish inside your kiss.  
Every day I'm loving you more and more.  
Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing?  
Come back to me, and forgive everything  
Seasons may change, winter to spring  
But I love you, until the end of time."_

With her head laid against Tara's chest, Willow could feel the warmth of her; hear the steady beating of her heart. "You're really here."

"I'm really here." Tara kissed the top of Willow's head, caressed the soft, sensitive skin over Willow's collarbone. "And I love you." Tara paused, and when she spoke again her voice was husky. "I need you, Willow."

Willow felt warmth spread through her belly. She pressed her lips against the tender skin of Tara's throat, traced her fingertips along her lover's jaw. Tara gave a throaty moan as Willow kissed her, tugging Tara's lower lip gently between her teeth. Their tongues flicked together and their embrace tightened. Willow breathed in the sweet honeysuckle scent of her love's perfume, ran her hands through Tara's golden hair, down her back, brushed them against the sides of her perfect breasts.

Tara arched against Willow, kissing her more urgently. She traced tiny figure eights on Willow's back, a habit that Willow had always called Tara waltzing her love. The joy of it—that simple gesture of her affection—sent silent tears streaming down Willow's face even as she kissed Tara more deeply. She traced her hands down the curves of Tara's hips, brushed her lower back with a touch as light as spider's silk.

In unspoken agreement the pair settled back against the pillows. Willow laid her head on Tara's shoulder and reached up with a shaking hand to gently stroke her breast. Tara gasped with pleasure of it, her flesh pebbling as it hardened under Willow's touch. When Willow leaned over and took Tara into her mouth she cried out, pulling Willow tightly against her.

Willow flicked her tongue against Tara's flesh, brushing her hand gently against the bottom of her breasts, down her stomach, until she came to rest on Tara's center, letting the weight of her hand rest there, one finger gently tracing the curls at the top her thighs.

"Willow," she panted. "I want you." Tara reached down and ran her hands along Willow's sides, slipped her long, thin fingers between their bodies to stroke Willow's breasts. "Please, love me."

Willow smiled, feeling a joy rush through her body that burned as warm as her passion. She released Tara's breast and tilted her head back, meeting Tara in a fierce kiss. Tara's stroking became more insistent; she tugged lightly on Willow's chest, giving a moan of absolute pleasure as Willow gasped.

Willow couldn't wait any longer. "I do love you, she murmured. "I missed you, Tara, so much."

She slid her finger across Tara, and as soon as she felt the warmth, the wet of the woman she'd missed for so long, as Tara cried out in joy and longing, Willow was swept over by the heat of climax. She cried out, arching herself against Tara, still stroking her. Tara began to shudder, voicing little moans as her hips rocked to the rhythm of Willow's lovemaking. Willow shifted to stroke with her thumb and slid her fingers back, entering Tara slowly, meeting the motion of her hips. Tara gasped and began to rock more quickly, crying out each time Willow moved inside of her. After a long, slow build, she came and clutched Willow to her, crying out her name with each pulse of her orgasm. Willow felt her lover's body contracting around her slim fingers.

Before she could move, Tara pressed her hand against Willow's, keeping her inside. "Not yet," she whispered.

Tara slid her hand down Willow's stomach, and Willow opened to her. As she touched Willow she smiled, biting her lower lip. Willow felt her lover enter her and came again, felt herself spasm around Tara's fingers.

"Wow," Tara murmured happily. She slid her fingers gently in and out, the palm of her hand rubbing Willow with every thrust. Willow began moving her hand in time with Tara's until the two of them were rocking in perfect synch, crying out with joy at their pleasure, their love.

When the last echoes of their lovemaking faded, they settled down onto the pillows, holding each other tightly. Willow peppered Tara's face with quick, light kisses, pausing only to draw an earlobe into her mouth.

"None of that, naughty girl," Tara laughed, stroking Willow's cheek. "I'm all worn out." She pulled her lover closer. "At least for now."

Willow nodded, felt her eyes burning with tears. She was whole. She could feel the joy of being with her lover again filling the empty space that loss and sorrow had left in her for so long. My Tara, Willow thought. Thank you for coming back to me.

As if she could hear Willow's thought, Tara began to hum again, rocking Willow gently.

"_Come what may,"_ Tara sang._ "Come what may, I will love you—" _She trailed off, kissed Willow's hair. "I love you, Willow."

"I love you too, baby," Willow whispered, a tear trailed down her check.

"_I will love you," _Tara sang. "_Until my dying day…_"

Willow felt a wave of cold fear sweep over her as Tara sang. She stared around the bedroom at their tangled bedclothes, the desk, covered in papers from where they'd spent the previous evening researching schematics. Just the papers, no computer, no disk, because those were downstairs, where they'd explained the geek bank heist scheme to Xander and Buffy. They'd found the clues that Buffy needed to confront Warren once and for all. They'd thought it was over, but it wasn't.

It was today.

Today was the day everything ended, when she lost herself because her lover lost her life, the day that Tara died. Bile burned in her throat. Was this her punishment? The price that Jane Maclay said must be repaid? To be reunited with Tara, just to have her taken away again?

Willow sat bolt upright in bed, shaking her head, trying not to be sick.

"Willow?" Tara asked, "Will, w-what's wrong? Are you okay?"

How could she tell her? How could she explain what had happened without sounding mad, or worse, without making Tara think she was using dark magic again?

"My stomach hurts," Willow murmured, "Just a cramp."

"Poor Will," Tara replied, rubbing her hand over Willow's belly. "Maybe we should get up, have some breakfast?" Tara looked at the clock and gave a little chuckle. "Lunch I guess? Thank goodness Dawnie's at school."

Willow grabbed Tara's hand and held it against her stomach, trying to think. Tara's mother had said her daughter could be saved. That had to mean there was a way, a way for Willow to protect her.

"Baby," Tara said, brow furrowing. Willow was pale, her skin clammy to the touch. Tara didn't understand what has caused such a sudden change in her lover's demeanor, but she wanted happy Willow again. "I packed your favorite sweater, that sky blue one you got me before—" She paused, not wanting to mention their time apart. "Before my birthday, my pre-birthday present, remember? You said it brings out my eyes."

She tilted her head, trying to catch Willow's eye, but the slender red head was staring down at the bed, lost in thought.

"Why don't we get dressed and go downstairs for something to eat? It'll help your stomach. I'll wear my sweater and you can wear that white blouse I love so much. The frilly one you always say is too low on the butch. Okay?"

There was Tara, framed so beautifully in the sunlight streaming through their window. Before there'd been time to process the faint shouting coming from the yard, before they heard the concussive pop of gunfire, there was a tinkle of glass breaking, and Willow looking down at blood spattering across her blouse—

_Your shirt…_

"No!" She cried convulsively, weeping and clutching Tara to her, "No don't."

"Willow—" Tara began, the alarm in her voice was clear.

"I'm all right," Willow replied, but she couldn't stop the tears, didn't loosen her grip on her lover. "I'll be all right. Please, just stay here with me, stay right here."

"Willow, what's wrong? Please, no more secrets."

"No secrets," Willow replied, hiccupping. "If you'll hold me, just for a little while, I'll explain everything."

"You're scaring me," Tara replied, staring down at the bed.

"I know, baby, I'm sorry."

Tara didn't look up at her. With tears still running down her cheeks, Willow reached out to Tara, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"I just need to find the words," Willow whispered. "Please Tara, you're my everything. Please trust me."

The pain and panic were so clear in Willow's voice that Tara thought her heart would break. "I do," she replied. She wrapped her arms around Willow in a gentle embrace. "I just wish I understood—" _  
_

There was an almost musical crunch as the glass of their bedroom window shattered and fell to the floor, closely followed by the dull thud of the bullet hitting wood of the doorframe, by the echo of its firing. Tara screamed and Willow threw herself on top of her lover, shielding with her own body. They trembled in the silence.

"Ow," Tara said, stirring beneath her. There was an edge of terror in her voice. "Willow, my chest it's burning—"

"Oh god, no," Willow replied, sitting up. She pulled Tara's hands away and looked at her lover's chest, rolling her over to look at her back. There was nothing, not a mark.

"Willow," Tara repeated. "What is this burning?" She rubbed her hand over her heart. "What happened?"

"Baby please," Willow begged. "You have to stay with me, you have to be okay." The pain in her stomach intensified.

Tara lay beneath Willow, gasping, her face pale. Suddenly she reached up and grabbed Willow's hands. "I'm all right," she panted. "It's fading, it's fading."

"Oh, thank the goddess and all things holy." Willow laughed through her tears and looked heavenward. "Thank you." Tara wasn't hurt. Tara would live.

"Willow?" Tara's voice shook, her eyes welled with unshed tears. "Will, d-did you know that was going to happen?" She sat up, pulling Willow's hands against her chest. "How did you know that was going to happen?" Tara's face crumpled. "Please, Willow, tell me it wasn't a spell, that you aren't using dark magic."

"No," Willow replied, shaking her head. "No, I haven't done any dark magic in over three years, not since—" Willow froze as Tara's face contorted in confusion.

"Three years? Willow, you and I have only been apart for a few months—"

"A few months for you," Willow whispered. As she opened her mouth to tell Tara the truth of what had happened, a searing pain ripped through her abdomen. She cried out and fell back in the bed, cradling her stomach.

"Will, baby what's wrong?" All of Tara's consternation vanished at the site of her love in pain. "Talk to me Willow."

Another flash of pain moved through her and Willow cried out, her back muscles clenching so tightly that she curved up from the bed like a bow being drawn, waiting to hear her spine crack with the strain.

"Oh god!" Tara screamed. "Willow? What's happening?"

With the pain there came a slow boil of rage in the pit of Willow's stomach. She felt it bubbling up inside of her, drawing out her pain and hate, calling to the dark magic that she'd fought to suppress for so many years.

"No, no," Willow begged. "It hurts, Tara, it hurts. There's something wrong." She gasped at a fresh wave of pain, called out to the current of life and light running through the earth to give her the strength to resist the terrible power she felt rising up inside of her. She'd felt this power before. It was the same power that had consumed her after Tara's death.

In was in that instant Willow knew the truth. This was the price. The debt she had to repay.

"Run, Tara." Willow pleaded, reaching out to touch her lover's hand. "I can't stop it."

She prayed that Tara would leave; that she wouldn't see what Willow was about to become. Her voice broke as she screamed again; her resistance against the darkness was tearing her apart.

"Willow you have to tell me what's happening. Please, let me help you."

She shook her head. Willow couldn't speak; her jaw was clenched tight against the agony writhing through her body so she wouldn't swallow her own tongue. Tara was staring down at her, weeping. She had to make her lover understand. Pulling on her dwindling stores of strength, Willow reached out to her lover with her mind.

'_Baby, you have to run_,' Willow thought, and let out another low, agonized scream. '_I can't lose you again_.'

Willow could see the shock in Tara's face at the touch of her mind. She tried to shield her lover from the pain that she was feeling, but knew she couldn't block it all. Another wave of searing pain burned through her nerve endings and she saw Tara go pale and wince in sympathy.

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere." Tara pulled Willow close, pressing the slender witch against her as she buckled with agony.

'_But you did_.' As she thought it, Willow sobbed. '_You went away_.' She struggled to hold back another scream, but sobs escaped her in a low growl. '_Three years ago, Warren came here to kill Buffy.'_ Willow fell into a coughing fit, her throat raw from screaming. '_He shot at her over and over, and one of the bullets came through our window_.'

Before Willow could stop it, the image of Tara's body in her arms lanced across her mind, pouring the shadow of all the pain and grief of that moment across the link into her love.

"Willow?" Even through her pain, she could hear the fear in Tara's voice.

'_You died baby._' Willow's body was on fire, her joints popping as the magic moved through her. When it reached her chest she wondered if her heart would stop. '_He shot you, and you died'_ she panted, fighting to remain conscious. '_But now you're back, we're together.'_ She screamed again, a long broken wail of anguish.

"Oh god, Willow, baby, please, stay with me." Tara held her close. _I died, _the words kept repeating in her head, _I died, I died, but now I'm back, I'm with the woman I love. Please goddess, please, don't take Willow from me._

'_I'm so sorry_,' Willow sent to her. '_So sorry for this pain.'_

"How?" Tara was pale, trembling. "How…d-did you save me?'

Willow knew she was thinking of Buffy's resurrection. Nausea rippled through her and she thought she might pass out, but she held on to the warm grip of Tara's hand like a lifeline.

"How Willow?" Tara repeated. There was a hysteric edge to the question.

'_Your mother,'_ Willow let the images of Tara's mother play through her mind. Tara's eyes welled with fresh tears. _'She came to me, she told me that the people who missed you, who loved you, invoked a wish through me.'_ She gritted her teeth as her body began to shake and buck with pain. '_Ter Sis Animi, warned me…price. Debt, must be repaid.'_

Tara's voice shook when she spoke. "How could you risk yourself this way?"

Willow forced herself to speak; she wanted Tara to hear the words from her mouth. "Would do anything…for you. You are…my everything." As she spoke, looking into her lover's beautiful face, Willow felt her connection to the earth snap. An inhuman shriek was torn from her body.

"Willow," Tara cried, "Your eyes!"


	3. Chapter 3

**The Wish of Three Hearts**

Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Fox, and many other powerful entities. I am just a visitor in this world—please don't sue me.

(AU post Season Seven. On Tara's birthday, three years after her death, Willow drives out to the canyon that used to be Sunnydale California to talk to her lost love. Her devotion to Tara will unlock a rite that has been lost for millennia and change her life forever. _A Willow and Tara fic._ )

_Chapter Three_

'_You have to leave me,_' Willow repeated, her jaw locked in pain. She could feel something coming, drawn to her darkness, her power.

Grey smoke boiled on the ceiling as Tara stared, horror-struck at her lover's burning eyes. Willow was shaking like she was freezing to death, but her skin was almost blisteringly hot to the touch.

_She's afraid of me_, Willow thought, and as she began to feel the spike of grief she felt it pulled away, down into the darkness rising in her chest. _She should be_.

"I am afraid," Tara whispered, "Afraid for you, baby. Not of you."

The cloud rolling across the ceiling of their bedroom thickened, spread, pulling light into itself until the room was dark as twilight in the middle of the day. A face appeared in the clinging mist, hollow-eyed, misshapen. Osiris.

"THERE IS NO DEATH HERE," A roar, low like the grind of bone on bone, shook Willow and Tara in their bed. "WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME, WITCH?"

"W-Willow?" Tara asked, voice quivering with fear.

"SPEAK!"

A tendril spun free of the hovering cloud and brushed Willow's wrist. She shrieked in pain again and again, crying out against the scythe-sharp presence of the death god within her mind.

"BROKEN, WEAK. MOVED BY FORCES, NOT THE MOVER."

The tendril wound up Willow's arm, to her, neck, around her head, squeezing her like a vice.

"No," Tara growled. "Stop hurting her." She held up her hand and a flash of grass-green light flared.

Willow felt the death god release its hold on her, saw coils forming all around the room, descending toward Tara. _'Tara, above you,'_ Willow warned.

Her love looked up at the ceiling, saw the threat moving toward them. "Oh goddess," Tara murmured. She held Willow against her chest and pushed off with her feet, sending them both spilling to the floor. The tendrils of the angered god thrashed above their heads. One snaked down and wrapped around Tara's ankle.

Tara screamed in agony, dragged up into the air.

"TOUCHED BY DEATH, BUT UNDYING. RESTORED."

"No," Willow moaned, watching her lover dangling above her, crying out. The darkness in her pushed free. "No!" She screamed, and a funnel of energy struck out at the rolling, cloudy face above her.

The being recoiled and Tara dropped to the floor, whimpering. Willow choked and wretched. The power left the taste of ashes in her mouth.

"IMPUDENCE. DO NOT SUMMON ME FOR THE NEXT DEATH, WITCH."

For the next death. Willow was gripped with terror. She'd saved Tara, but Buffy had still been shot. Her best friend was dying.

The pressure of the death god's presence began to lift. His face faded, drawn into the rolling smoke on the ceiling. It faded from gray to white, dispersing into mist as light came streaming back into the room.

"Tara," she croaked.

Tara lowered her shaking love to the ground. She felt a swell of relief when Willow looked up at her—the fire had faded from her eyes.

"There's my beautiful green-eyed girl," Tara murmured, a tear slipped down cheek even as she flashed a tiny half grin at her lover.

Willow tried to return the grin and felt a grimace stretch across her face. The darkness and rage was still a burning knot at her core, and it was growing.

"Are you all right?" Tara asked. "Is it o-over?"

"Help," Willow said, struggling to speak. She could feel her strength draining as the dark magic rode through her bones, soon she would run dry. They had to help Buffy, but she couldn't even send the thought now.

"Of course I'll help you, baby," Tara murmured. She stood and pulled a blanket off the bed, tucking it around Willow's body. "I'll get Buffy, we'll get you help."

Tara paused long enough to throw on a nightshirt and ran out of the room. Willow could hear her footsteps pounding down the staircase. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to sit up, to call out to her soul mate, but she couldn't move, she couldn't make a sound.

The living room of the Summers house was quiet. Tara crept through the room on the balls of her feet, ears straining for any sound of movement. She needed to find Buffy, but she wasn't going to take a chance that she'd run into an armed Warren unprepared. She moved into the sitting room and found it empty; there was just a paper plate with three desiccated pizza crusts on the coffee table.

"Dawnie," Tara murmured, and then gave out a little shriek as she tripped over a pair of the teen's sneakers, stuffed with dirty socks. She caught herself on the arm of the old sofa, gasping for breath. Tara's heart was pounding in her chest, protesting the steady diet of adrenaline she was providing. She couldn't help reveling in it for a moment. Tara placed her hand against her heart. _Keep beating. For me, for Willow_.

The kitchen was as empty as the rooms Tara had already searched. She was just about to go down into the basement when she saw movement in the backyard. Xander was there, staring at something on the ground. Tara tugged self-consciously at the short nightshirt she was wearing, but her embarrassment wouldn't keep her from getting help for Will.

"Xander, is he gone? Is Warren gone?" She asked softly, stepping out the door into the backyard. The paneling of the small deck was rough under her feet. "X-Xander," she repeated, but he didn't answer. She stepped onto the grass. "X-Xander, you have to help me, Willow—"

Xander turned to Tara, his face was gray, his mouth hanging slack. "Tara, I don't know—I don't know what to do." His shirt was splattered with blood.

"Oh my, oh Xander," Tara said, rushing toward him. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, and looked back to the ground. Tara followed his gaze. Buffy was lying at Xander's feet, bleeding.

"Buffy!" Tara cried. She crouched down and pressed her hands against Buffy's chest, trying to stop the blood that was seeping out of the slayer with each heartbeat. "Xander, I need you to go inside and get a towel, we have to put more pressure on this."

Xander was staring down at them both, unblinking.

"You have to snap out of it!" Tara screamed. "Buffy and Willow need us, Xander." Buffy shuddered beneath her hands, took in a shallow gasp of breath. Tara was desperate; she lashed out in the only way she could think of to break his haze.

"Don't make me have Anya go all vengeance demon on your ass, Harris. Get moving, soldier!"

Xander blinked and stared at Tara liked she'd appeared out of thin air.

"I need towels Xander, as many as you can carry, she's freezing. When you are done with that, go back inside, call 911, and then go and check on Willow."

"Will?" Xander asked dully. "Did he shoot her—"

She didn't have time to explain. "She hasn't been shot, she-she's sick. Now go get the damned towels."

Xander turned and ran into the house. Buffy's chest began to heave under Tara's hands. She felt a dull lance of fear, but when she looked down, Buffy was actually grinning up at her. Tara realized she was trying to laugh, even as she bled out onto the grass.

"Ferocious Tara…makes another appearance," Buffy gasped. "Scary."

"Shush," Tara soothed. "You'll be all right, Buffy. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of both of you."

Even as she said the words Tara could feel fear building inside her. Willow was in agony, Buffy was dying, if this was the price that had to be paid for her life, maybe it was too high.

"I got towels." Xander was standing above her with towels piled to his chin.

"Give me one," Tara replied. She held out her left hand, but kept the right pressed against Buffy's wound. Xander handed her a thick white towel with shaking hands. Tara slipped it beneath her right hand and leaned against it with all her strength.

"Cover her legs and her stomach with the rest," Tara told him, alarmed to see hints of red already spreading across the towel like hellish snowflakes. "Then 911, and then Willow. Can you do that, Xander?"

"911, and Will," Xander murmured.

"Help's on the way, Buffy," Tara said gently. "You just have to hang in there for a little while. I'll be right here with you."

"Dawn," Buffy murmured. There was a bluish tinge around her lips.

"Dawnie's all right," Tara said. "She's safe, she's at school. Warren didn't hurt her."

"Take, care of Dawn." As Buffy said the words a tear slipped down her cheek. "You and Will, promise me, you'll take care of her. You make her happy."

"No, we'll all take care of Dawn together," Tara insisted. "She needs us all, all her family, together."

Buffy didn't answer her; she just stared up at the sky. Tara smacked her friend lightly on the cheek.

"Stay with me, Buffy, no wandering off. You can't make Dawnie lose you again, I don't think she could bear it."

Buffy took a rattling breath and coughed, spraying Tara's nightshirt with blood. "You hit me," she murmured. "You hit the shot girl."

"I'm so, s-sorry, Buffy. Please, don't die."

"Trying," Buffy said. There were still no sirens pealing in the distance. Buffy's eyes rolled back in her head.

"No, no," Tara cried. "Keep your eyes open." Fear and grief chilled her. If Buffy died, how would she tell Willow that her best friend was dead? Would Willow survive it?

The thought of losing her friend was terrifying, but at the thought of losing Willow Tara began to weep, hunched over Buffy's body. Still holding the pressure against the tiny slayer's chest, Tara sobbed, fighting the panic rising in her like a wave.

Tara's swell of emotion cut Willow like a knife.

"Tara!" Willow screamed, curling up on the floor of their bedroom.

The dark magic pulsed in her chest, she could feel sources of power scattered throughout Sunnydale calling out to the shadow growing in her. The power was hungry, and she wasn't enough to sate it. The shadow would seek out other magics to keep itself fed, and with every measure of power it took she would lose more of what made her Willow. And if she didn't take that power, the darkness would pull from her, over and over, until she had nothing left to give.

But if she was going to keep Tara safe, to fulfill the terms of the Ter Sis Animi, Willow couldn't give herself over to that force. She would do anything to keep Tara safe.

Even if meant that she would die.

"You're mine," Willow growled, focusing all of her strength on reconnecting to the power of the earth, pulling from that energy to fight the darkness rising in her chest. "My rage, my, pain, my power. You won't control me." There was a power, a painful burning friction roaring through her where earth magic touched darkness. "I will go to her."

Willow let out a low groan of pain as her body lifted up off of the floor. She levitated toward the bed and struggled to pull on the pale green chemise hanging off the foot of the bed. In the end she took energy from her connection to the earth to move her arms, her hands, to slide the light cloth over her body. Each movement as she warped the power to her will was like her bones were blades, cutting her flesh from the inside.

She floated out into the hall and found herself face to face with Xander.

When he saw Willow his mouth fell open. "Will," he said hoarsely. "What's wrong with you?"

"Where is Tara?" She started to float past but Xander grabbed her arm.

"Willow, you don't want her to see you like this. You lost her once because of dark magic, don't do it again."

She didn't have time for this. "Where is Tara, Xander?"

"Will, what happened to you?" He shuddered under the glare of his friend's strange eyes. "She's downstairs, in the back. She-she's with Buffy."

"Buffy's still alive?"

"How did you—" Xander shook his head. "She was when I came up here to find you. Tara's taking care of her." Xander's eyes widened and he grabbed Willow's shoulders. "Tara said you were sick, is that what this is, you're sick?"

"Yes." Willow replied in a whisper. She felt hot tears spill down her cheeks. "There's something wrong, but I can still help them, I can still save Buffy."

Xander released her arms and followed Willow down the staircase.

"Tara told me to call 911," Xander told her when they walked into the kitchen. He stared at the floor so he wouldn't have to see Willow's face.

Willow nodded. "Do what you have to do." She pulled open the door and floated out onto the deck.

The sight of Tara safe, alive, sent a way of joy through her. It pierced the darkness moving through her and she dropped to her hands and knees on the deck, her arms and legs left shaking.

"Willow?" Tara cried, still pressing the white towel to Buffy's chest. "Will, are you all right? Where's Xander?"

"I'm okay, baby." Willow lied. She could feel herself weakening; the call of the dark powers throughout Sunnydale was becoming stronger. "Xander is calling 911, but we won't need them."

"We needed them five minutes ago," Tara replied. "I don't know how much longer she can hold on."

"It'll be all right, Tara," Willow promised. She struggled to her feet and tottered toward her true love, toward her fallen friend. "I can help her."

"Willow, no," Tara protested. Her lover's eyes were strange, like mother-of-pearl swirled with ink, black as pitch. "You can't use dark magic, not even for this. Buffy wouldn't want you to do this to yourself. I don't want you to do this to yourself."

"She's dying, Tara. I have to help her." She dropped to her knees next to Tara and laid her hands on top of her beloved's, adding her pressure to help staunch Buffy's loss of blood. She wanted to explain that she wouldn't pull from dark magics, that she was fighting it, but couldn't find the words. "I promised that I would undo all the wrongs that I did—" Willow paused, she could feel her pulse quicken with shame and fear. "That I did after you died."

"Willow—"

"I hurt so many people, Tara." Willow whispered, crying again. She was amazed she had tears left to weep. "Please, I have to save Buffy." Willow looked into her lover's eyes expecting Tara to flinch, or to look away like Xander had, but Tara's beautiful steely-blue gaze was unflinching.

"You can't save her like this, Willow."

"I saved her before," Willow insisted. "I can do it again. I can suppress the darkness."

Tara took her lover's hand and pressed it against her chest. "I'm here, let me help you. Together, we can save her, the light can save her." Her face was perfect, impassive, but a tear slipped down her cheek.

Willow just stared at Tara for a moment, but then, to Tara's great relief, the ebony and pearl faded from her lover's eyes. Willow was flooded by the warmth and love she could feel pulsing through Tara's touch. The darkness within her retreated, but she could feel it lurking, waiting for her weakness, for her wrath.

"I know we can," Willow whispered in reply. "I love you, Tara Maclay."

"And I love you, Willow Rosenberg."

Willow looked into her lover's eyes, allowed herself just an instant to rejoice that they were together again. "Tara, how are we going to cast this?" She asked softly. "I don't have anything here, no more safety net, remember?"

She nodded. "I remember. We just need one thing Will; I hope you kept it. The doll's eye crystal."

Willow's eyes widened, there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "Of course I kept it, it was your grandmother's. And the first gift you ever gave me." Her ghost of a smile faltered, leaving behind a look of guilt and sadness.

_My poor Willow_, Tara thought, _we'll make this better, baby_.

"Tara," Willow continued. "I don't know where it is. I wanted to be sure I wouldn't be tempted to use it, so I asked Buffy to hide it.

Tara closed her eyes. The slayer knew so many parts of the city, little nooks, crannies and crypts, spaces that no other human would stray into. The stone could be anywhere, and every second they waited to cast the spell brought Buffy closer to death. Tara felt Willow's hand squeeze hers and Tara opened her eyes.

"It's in the house somewhere, baby. I asked Buffy to hide it here so—" she paused, and Tara could see her deciding whether or not to go on. "So I could have something of you near me."

Sadness for her lover's pain and regret for the time they spent apart warred with her gratitude that Willow had been strong enough to ask that the crystal be kept close by, but safe from her temptation.

"We'll find it, Willow," Tara replied, brushing her thumb over Willow's knuckles. "Xander," she called. There was no movement in the house. "Xander!" She cried again, this time Willow added her voice to the call.

Xander came running out of the kitchen, still pale. "The ambulance isn't here yet," he said, wringing his hands. "Is she—"

"She's unconscious, but she's alive," Tara said. "We're going to help her Xander, but first I need you to help me."

He crept cautiously across the yard and then sat back on his heels between the young witches.

"What can I do?" Xander whispered.

"I need you to find something for me, something that you probably won't be able to see."

Xander's brow crinkled with confusion. "Tara, I have to admit, I don't get it."

"It's okay, you don't have to. Just trust me. I'm going to bless your eyes, so you can find what we need." She paused, trying to smile at him to calm his fears. "Come here," she said.

Xander leaned closer to Tara and she shifted toward him too, until their faces were inches apart.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

Xander closed his eyes as he'd been told, and Tara placed a soft, feather-light kiss on each of his eyelids.

"Aradia, make the blinded see, send a path, guide to our key. Blessed be his sight, so we implore, obeisance to you evermore."

"Hey," Willow said softly. "Nobody said anything about my girlfriend kissing my best friend."

Tara nodded at Willow, moved by her attempt to find laughter even in such a dark moment. "Willow, it was just eyelids," she teased.

"But look at his face," she pouted.

Xander was staring around the yard with a goofy grin plastered to his face. "Well you do have impressively soft lips, Tara," he joked.

"Hey!" Willow cried again.

"Easy, Will. I'm smiling because it worked. There's some kind of green squiggly smoke thing going into the house."

"Follow it Xander," Tara said firmly. "And hurry, she's almost out of time."

Xander nodded and fled into the house.

"Hold on, Buffy," Willow murmured. A tear dripped down her chin onto the pink stain spreading across the white towel pressed to her best friend's chest. "Just a little while longer."

Xander ran back into the Summers' kitchen and swore beneath his breath. The path that was so clear outside was less distinct here, fragmented in several directions. He took the stairs down into the basement only to find that the path curled back in upon itself. He followed the trail back up into the kitchen and then moved into the living room. He could see the path wind around a few pieces of furniture, but then it went upstairs.

Xander moved up the staircase in a sprint, taking two steps at a time, and then followed the path down the hall into Buffy's room. He knew immediately that he'd found the right place, finally. Buffy's whole bed had a green haze around it. Xander felt tears welling in his eyes as he realized that the trail he'd followed must've been Buffy wandering all over the house trying to find the safest place for the crystal, the final decision, of course, had been where she could guard it.

"Oh Buff," Xander whispered.

The glow was brightest around the bottom of the bed, so Xander dropped to his stomach. When he lifted the bedspread to look underneath he saw a small box. He pulled it out into the light. The box was glowing green. The object he needed was in a plain cardboard box that had the word WISHES written across it in Buffy's slanted script.

"Hopefully me helping to save your life will override me going through your stuff," Xander murmured as he opened the box. "Otherwise Xander is going to be a very broken boy."

As soon as Xander saw the contents of the box a sob rocked his frame. The box was full of pictures of her family, when they were happy. Giles, waving. Joyce, with her arms around Buffy and Dawn. Willow and Tara looking adoringly at one another, oblivious to the bustle of the Magic Box all around them. Anya, dozing off in Xander's lap on one of the rare Scooby movie nights.

There was a message on the inside of the box lid, a hope that Buffy had sent out to the universe: _Let my family find their way back to each other, to their happiness again. Let us remember those we've lost with love, and live on together._ Nestled in the middle of the pictures was a large rose-colored crystal, surrounded by a green glow.

Xander was still crying when he made his way back downstairs with the crystal in hand, out to where Tara and Willow were waiting for him so they could save Buffy's life.

_We'll make it right, Buff_. Xander thought as he handed the crystal to Tara without a word. _Willow and Tara found their way back to each other, the rest of us can be happy too._

"Are you ready?" Tara asked.

Willow nodded, but Tara could see the exhaustion in her face. She was so pale; the shadows under her eyes were dark as bruises.

"Xander, we'll need you to keep the pressure on the wound while we cast,"

Tara's voice shook a bit as she spoke. The sun was so bright, and she could hear birds singing. It didn't seem like such beauty and such pain should be able to exist in the same world.

"But when I tell you," she continued. "You have to move the towel. Understand?"

"Yes." Xander nodded, staring down at where their hands held the towel against Buffy's chest. Yes."

Tara and Willow lifted their hands from the towel and Xander was right there, reaching in to staunch the blood flow. Tara pressed Willow's hands against the crystal and then covered Willow's hands with her own.

"Together, Will, okay?" Tara sent thoughts of joy and love through her warm touch. She was happy to see a bit of color return to Willow's cheeks.

"Okay, Tara." Her voice was a weak whisper, but she still found a smile for her love.

"Per vox dea," Tara said, Willow's voice a softer, higher echo. "Per lux lucis orbis terrarum quod divum, permissum mulier existo vigoratus." _By the power of the goddess, by the light of the earth and sky, let this woman be healed. _They repeated the chant over Buffy's body three times, felt the crystal glowing warm under their hands. Willow could feel the frayed edges where her essence held a fragile connection to the earth, struggling against the darkness at her core. The world swam in and out of focus.

"Magnes, duco sicco!" Tara and Willow called out together as the crystal burned hot beneath their hands. _Magnet, draw it out. _"Move it now Xander," Tara cried.

He pulled the towel away and watch blood pool up from the wound on Buffy's chest. The crystal was white in Tara and Willow's hands. Blood welled again as Buffy took a breath, and then a tiny wad of metal slid from her flesh and moved slowly through the air, up toward the crystal.

Xander grabbed the bullet as it floated past his face. "It's so small," he murmured.

Willow's head snapped up, startled to hear the words she'd spoken in another life echoed from his lips.

"Willow," Tara murmured, gently guiding her lover back to their casting.

"Per vox o tre, matris, virgo, altus, permissum tre vicis tre dies curatio obduco." _By the power of three, maiden, mother, and crone, let three times three days healing pass here._ Again the spell was spoken three times. On the third round of the chant the crystal turned to liquid in their hands, sliding down into the wound on Buffy's chest. As it moved to fill the hole the bullet had torn in the slayer, blood was drawn back into Buffy's body, staining the clear fluid pink. The last traces of blood disappeared from her skin and all that was left behind was an angry puckered circle, purple-red, just above her breast. Buffy took in a great gasping breath.

"Nine days of slayer healing," Willow murmured happily. She looked at Tara and squeezed her hands gently. "Thank you, Tara, for saving her."

Before Tara could reply, Willow's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp. Tara's firm grip was the only thing that kept her from hitting her head on the ground.

"Willow, no!" Tara moaned, pulling her lover to her. Willow was so light, so cold. The bones of her face stood out in sharp relief under her skin. "Will," Tara said, barely audible above wind moving through the trees. "Please baby, wake up. Come back to me." She pressed her lips against Willow's forehead. "I love you, always, no matter what. Just wake up, and I'll take care of everything. I promise."

"What's wrong?" Buffy groaned, stirring on the ground. "Tara, what's happening?"

"Buffy!" Xander pulled the slayer upright into a gentle embrace. "Thank you, god. You okay?"

"Besides feeling like a rhino tried to cuddle me and gored me with his horn," Buffy groaned, rubbing her aching chest. "What happened? What's wrong with Will?"

"Warren shot you, Buff," Xander replied. His voice was low, solemn. "Will and Tara saved you." He opened his hand and Buffy took the bullet fragment between her thumb and forefinger.

"Jesus," she whispered. "Thank you, Tara, thank you." Buffy's brow furrowed, watching Willow curled against Tara's chest. Her face was slack, her breathing quick and shallow. "So is this, is this my fault?" She took Willow's hand and gasped, it was ice-cold.

"N-no," Tara replied. She pulled Willow closer. "It was a powerful light-based spell and—" Tara's voice broke and she started to cry silently. She pressed her forehead to Willow's murmuring, "Wake up baby, wake up," over and over.

"She's sick, Buff," Xander said. "Tara says she's sick."

Tara didn't look up at them; she just stroked her lover's face.

"She is sick, right?" Xander asked again, growing more insistent. "That's why she went all scary floating weird-eyes Willow?"

"Tara?" Buffy asked gently, laying her hand on the blonde witch's arm.

She looked up at Buffy and Xander, her eyes filled with tears, her face haunted in a way Buffy hadn't seen since they day they helped to free her from her abusive father and brother.

"S-something ha-ha-happened," Tara stammered, giving a little sob. "W-Willow, she, she s-said—" Tara shook her head; tears were streaming down her face.

Buffy reached down and took Tara by the hand. "Tara, it's all right. We won't let anything happen to Will. Take a breath, and try again."

Tara nodded once, taking a long inhale, and then slowly letting it out. "When w-we woke up this morning," she said, staring down at Willow. "Will was acting odd, a little c-confused."

Xander opened his mouth to ask another question but Buffy shook her head, she could see that Tara was trembling, tears still welling in her eyes. They had to find out what happened before she broke down completely.

"She seemed shocked to find me next to her. At first I thought it was b-b-b," Tara sighed and a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Because," Buffy said quietly.

Tara nodded, "Of, the t-time we were apart. But then, when I s-suggested we get up for breakfast, she got, r-really hysterical. Just c-crying and crying. S-she, she wouldn't tell me what was w-wrong," Tara said earnestly, looking up at Xander and Buffy. "B-but she promised s-she would explain when she c-calmed down." Tara reached down a stroked a lock of hair from Willow's face. "That's was w-w-when W-Warren shot at you, one of the shots smashed our window."

"Oh God," Buffy said, "But neither of you—"

"It h-hit the wall, by the door," Tara replied. Her face was pale and her lower lip trembled. "But there was this terrible burning in my chest."

"Did you get hit by shrapnel?" Xander asked.

Tara smiled weakly at Xander's holdover soldier memories. "There's not a s-scratch on me. But W-Willow was so scared." Tara paused. "S-she knew that bullet was going to come in the w-window. She s-saved me from getting shot."

"But Tara," Buffy asked, "How did she know?"

Xander sighed and rubbed his hand on Buffy's back. "She's relapsing Buff. That's what you meant, isn't it Tara? She's sick. She's using again."

"No," Tara insisted. "S-she's not. I'm n-n-not, I'm not explaining it r-r-right."

"Breathe, Tara" Buffy reminded her.

Tara nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. She watched them, her sky blue eyes gone gray. "I died."

The words slipped out of her so easily, just as they'd repeated in her mind. Buffy and Xander stared, mouths open, eyes wide.

"I died, but now I'm back. Willow saved me."

The wind kicked up around them, set the leaves rustling in the trees, the branches creaking. Tara could feel grass tickling against her ankle, teased by the wind. The earth hummed through her bones, and she sent all it had to give her into Willow, praying that her love would wake up, like a princess in a fairytale. That all would be made well.

"Willow," Buffy began. Tara could see the fear and doubt blooming in the young slayer's face.

"It w-wasn't dark magic," Tara said, rocking Willow gently.

"Then how?" Xander asked.

"Willow told me about a rite, a wish, she c-called it Ter Sis Animi. It brought her b-back, so she could save me."

"Brought her back?" Buffy's brow was furrowed.

"Three years," Tara murmured, staring down at Willow. She was so pale. "I was d-dead for three years."

The confusion was so clear in their faces. Tara told them what she'd seen in Willow's mind, the vision of her own mother, of Willow holding her body and weeping.

"She couldn't tell me much," Tara whispered, fighting and failing to hold back a sob. "She was in such pain. All I know is, to bring me back, Willow agreed to pay a price. To repay the debt of the things she did…after I died. And I'm s-so afraid."

Tara began to weep, a high, keening sound of grief that broke Buffy and Xander's hearts. They looked at each other solemnly; it was only too easy to imagine the kind of havoc Willow would've wreaked if anything happened to Tara.

"I'm so afraid," Tara gasped. "That I'll lose her, it's too h-high a price," she sobbed. "Too high. I don't want to live if she dies."

Buffy rubbed Tara's back softly with her free hand. "We won't let that happen. We just have to find out more about this Terror Sis Anime thing, so we can help her."

"Ter Sis Animi, Buff," Xander murmured.

"Right, that. Tara," Buffy said, squeezing her friend's hand gently until the girl met her eyes. "We'll help her. It'll be okay."

"T-thank you."

"We should take her to the Magic Box," Xander said, standing. "There's bound to be some information on this thing in some of Giles' books."

Tara nodded.

"Let's get her to the car," Buffy said softly.

Tara allowed the slayer to lift Willow out of her arms, but kept her lover's hand held tightly in her own. _ Stay with me. _ She thought to Willow. _Please._ Even unconscious, Tara could feel waves of fear coming from her soul mate. Tara sent waves of calm to her, of peace. Tara didn't, couldn't understand that Willow's fear was rising because she could hear them, because she knew that they were taking her to the Magic Box, one of the strongest sources of dark magic in Sunnydale.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Warren Mears strolled into the demon bar on 4th feeling like king of the universe. _Warren one,_ _slayer absolute zero_, he chuckled to himself. He felt jittery with energy, like his skin was two sizes too small and he was going to burst out of it, free and clear like a snake shedding, casting off the old and worn to reveal something new, something bright and wonderful.

The bar was cool and dark so he pulled off his sunglasses, sauntering past vampires and demons in a half dozen different horrific varieties.

"Whiskey, straight up!" He cried, throwing his arms out. "And get a round for the house, I'm feeling expansive!" _What's a little money when I can just steal more? No slayer to stop me…_ He gave a gleeful little chuckle.

Warren slid onto a barstool next to a vamp watching television with hungry intent. He took a quick glance and repressed a little shudder. Some crocodile was gnawing away at a gazelle, breaking off hunks of meat, staining the water around it pink. Warren took a sip of his whiskey to distract him from the nauseating sight. His leg hopped as his foot bounced up and down on the crossbar of the barstool.

"Hey," Warren said, leaning in towards the vampire. "I bet you don't get a lot of humans in—"

Warren froze, swallowing thickly as the vampire reached out with lightning speed to grab his shoulder. He resisted the urge to wince at the painful pressure from the vampire's hand.

"I'm watching my program," the vampire said slowly, locking his yellow eyes on Warren.

Warren had a sudden thought that he knew what the gazelle felt like when the crocodile popped out of the river. He shrugged the thought aside as soon as it occurred, letting his eyes travel over the bar again. Vampires, demons, trolls, gods, none of them had been able to kill the slayer, kill her and keep her down. Only he, only Warren Mears, had been able to get the job done.

"Wouldn't want to interrupt your me time," Warren breezed, smiling, knocking back his whiskey. "Not even to buy the guy who killed the slayer a drink." He spoke the last words at the top of his lungs, grinning. Let this vamp find out who he was messing with.

The bar fell silent. Warren could feel every eye in the house on him. The croc-loving vampire turned toward him at a glacial pace. "What's that?" There was an edge in the vamp's voice that made him break out in gooseflesh. He didn't know if he was terrified or thrilled. Maybe both.

"Took her out myself. I've been heading an organization. The Trio?" Warren smiled. "You've heard of us." _And now we'll go down in history, I'll go down in history. Slayer-killer._

The vampire's eyes narrowed. It took a moment, with the forehead issue and all, for Warren to realize it was confusion. The vampire locked eyes with the bartender and then looked back at Warren. "Uh, no."

Warren felt a brief flare of disappointment that crumbled into smoldering anger. They didn't know about the Trio. Fine. It didn't matter. It was all about him, it was all Warren Mears now, baby.

"Not important," Warren said, forcing a laugh. "I cut them loose. I figure, now that Buffy's out of the picture, some things have got to change around here."

The vampire was still just staring at him with those disconcerting eyes, so Warren shifted his gaze to the bartender, widening his smile. "I need a real gang, you know, not a, not a couple of wannabes." He liked looking at the bartender. The bartender made him feel handsome. _I thought I had skin issues,_ he thought, barely holding in a chuckle.

"And you killed the slayer?" The bartender drawled. His voice was like someone crunching a handful of gravel.

"With these hands," Warren said, taking another sip of his drink. There was movement in his peripheral vision. He took a quick glance around the bar and saw some of the patrons were standing, craning to get a better look at him. Some were even moving closer to the counter.

"What are you, a warlock?" The bartender asked.

Warren did laugh this time, long and loud. "It's funny you mention that. You know, I've explored all the dark arts—witchcraft, demonology. You name, I tried it against the slayer. But you know what I found really works?

_Pause for effect_, Warren thought. "Gun," he purred.

"You killed the slayer with a gun?" The vampire next to him asked. Warren looked at croc-lover and saw the vampire's face spread in a wide, toothy smile.

"In her own backyard," Warren agreed. "Don't underestimate science, my friend. Good, old-fashioned metal meets propulsion." He smacked his hands together and started to laugh.

"Holy shit," the bartender drawled. "Take your money back." He shoved Warren's bills back across the counter. "Drinks are on me," the demon roared. "The slayer's dead!"

The bar broke into a riot of cheers, growls, and ear-splitting shrieks. Warren found himself buffeted on every side by demons swarming up to the bar for their free drinks, a few taking the time to pat him on the back. Each hand, claw, and _thing_ that hit him felt like it would leave a bruise, but he didn't care. These were his people. Well, not people. The bartender gave him a drink, then his vampire neighbor at the bar. Some tentacley fellow bought him a double. Pretty soon he was feeling a buzz that him humming.

"Let's watch Baywatch!" Warren cried. The crocodiles disappeared, replaced with a static-blurred beach scene covered with sunbathing beauties. "That's more like it!" He tossed back another drink.

"Hot blond running!" A demon called from the back of the bar. Catcalls and whistles rang throughout the place.

Warren was enjoying the show and yet another whiskey when the bell over the door rang. He didn't pay it any mind until his barstool was nearly knocked out from under him by a scrawny kid with curly, mousy hair and huge, thick glasses.

"Hey, watch it," Warren snarled. He reached out to push the newcomer, only to find the croc-loving vamp holding his arm.

"I wouldn't buddy," the vampire said. "He's a Slod demon. He might decide you've got some rare organs he wants for his collection."

"Gus," the kid panted, waving down the bartender. "I've got an update for the pool."

"Too late kid, we already know the slayer's dead." The bartender laughed. "Have a drink, relax, we'll update the bets tonight." He pushed a glass of milky blue liquid toward the Slod demon. "You didn't have money riding on that one did you? Hell of a long shot."

"Gus," the kid repeated. He grabbed his drink and emptied it with one toss. When he spoke again pale blue smoke rolled out of his mouth. "The slayer isn't dead."

Warren froze, whiskey glass half way to his mouth. He kept his eyes locked on the television. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. But if it was—

"What?" The bartender asked in a growl. No one in the bar was making a sound now. The television sounded tinny and strange, warped.

The Slod kid nodded his head, setting his dishwater curls bouncing crazily. "I heard some normal tried to shoot the slayer, but it didn't take, as if it would." He laughed, long and high and shrill, sending a huge curl of smoke into the air. "And the best part? Her pet witches saved her! Time to update the pool, Gus. I just won big!"

"Hold him," the bartender told the croc-loving vamp.

At first Warren felt a flash of relief, expecting to see the Slod kid seized, but it only lasted for an instant as he gasped at the burning pressure of the vampire gripping his upper arm.

"Hey," Warren began. The vampire shook him so hard his teeth clacked together.

"Shut up, normal."

"I'm shutting up," Warren babbled, holding up his hands in surrender.

The bartender turned to the paneled wall behind him and muttered a single word in some demonic tongue, waving his hand in front of the dark wood. As his gesture ended, the wall dissolved, leaving behind a chalkboard covered in phosphorescent green chalk scrawls. The demon waved his hand again and the text began to scroll upwards, line after line of it, until Warren saw a block labeled _Slayer Death_. There were a hundred deaths listed, from choking to vamp bite to being hit by a bus.

There were two places where lines had been drawn through a death in a deep purple-red streak: death by drowning and death by god. At the very bottom of the list was death by gun.

"You better hope this is a waste of my blood," the bartender said, looking over his shoulder at Warren.

"I don't know what that means," Warren whined, crying out as the vampire tightened his grip, shaking him again.

"I told you, shut up. Won't tell you again."

The bartender watched their exchange with a grim smile, and with no change in expression, reached up and bit the tip off his own index finger. Blood streamed from the wound.

"Let's see what we have boys," the bartender called as he chewed. Warren cringed at the sound grind of teeth on bone.

Gus the finger-eating bartender reached out and dragged his stump across the line on the board that read death by gun. The blood left a tarry black smear. Warren could hear demons in the bar behind him muttering and whispering. The demon kid was bouncing up and down as he watched the board, the puffs of smoke from his breath barely visible now.

The new blood on the board began to burn. Warren held his free hand up in front of his face against the flare of light. When it faded, he looked back at the board. The line over death by gun now glowed the same purple-red as the other failed slayer deaths.

"You're screwed," the vampire chuckled.

"It didn't fuckin' TAKE!" The bartender roared, smashing his hand to the counter.

Feeling a strange sense of detachment that fogged his bladder-weakening terror, Warren noticed that the bartender's finger had already begun to grow back, a claw-tipped bone emerging slowly from the torn flesh. Demons throughout the bar were screaming out for Warren's death. _It didn't take_, Warren thought. _It didn't take_…

"Everybody shut up!" The bartender screamed. The patrons fell silent again, the air in the room left heavy with unspoken anger. You're a dead man," the bartender told Warren. "But not until you earn back some of the money you cost me tonight. We're taking a new bet, boys!"

The bartender waved his arm and the text on the board scrolled until bare black was revealed. Another gesture of his hand and text began to burn green across the space. It read _Slayer Kills Normal_.

"All right, I'm taking times, bets are for cash or kittens, no swap-out," the bartender told the watching crowd. "How long till the slayer squashes this bug?"

Warren watched demons betting his life away. Some gave him minutes, some gave him days, and some took riskier bets by including how the slayer would kill him. The little Slod demon that'd ruined his life, spoiled his victory, bet that Buffy would use the witches to do him in. Demon after demon jumped on the Slod bet. The witches. The witches. The slayer and her damned witches. It was all their fault.

"Nobody touches him," the bartender called out to his patrons, eyeballing every grumbling demon until the place was silent as the grave. "Nobody touches him except the slayer. I find out that anybody went after him because they lost cash on that gun bet and they'll have me to deal with."

"Good news for you, kid," the croc-loving vampire growled, teeth inches from Warren's face. "I was gonna drain you dry for making me watch Baywatch, but now you're safe." The vampire laughed, sending a wave of hot breath at him. Warren gagged at the smell of old, rotten meat. "Till the slayer and her witches find you."

The vampire pushed Warren off his barstool and he couldn't catch himself, he landed painfully on the bare cement floor. He pulled himself to his feet under the baleful gaze of the bartender, saw the Slod kid smirking at him.

"We'll just see about that," Warren said. But his squeaking bravado sounded hollow, even to him.

Warren ran for the door, waiting to feel a claw or a knife in the back, but it never came. He went outside and scrambled up the steps into the daylight, panting for breath. The light was stinging his eyes so he pulled out his sunglasses, only to find the lenses were cracked, frame bent by his unceremonious shove to the floor. Warren felt a little burst of anger at the loss of the expensive glasses and then laughed as a wave of nausea clenched his stomach. Now wasn't the time to be worried about a stupid pair of sunglasses. Buffy wasn't dead. Buffy and her witches would be looking for him.

"Three to one," Warren muttered. "It's time to even those odds."

Willow woke to the hum of tires on asphalt. She felt the darkness boiling in her belly and grief lanced through her. She knew what she would see when she opened her eyes—the vast expanse of desert, pale sand, and the bleached green of life struggling to exist in a desiccated, lonely land. The sky would be fading to lavender on the horizon. They were driving, hunting Warren. _I'm hunting Warren, because I'm a killer. How could Tara ever love a killer?_ It didn't matter of course, because if she opened her eyes and saw that desert, it meant that her Tara was still gone…

oooooooooooooooooo

When Willow opened her eyes and saw the streets of Sunnydale rolling past the window, looked down and saw the arms of her lover wrapped around her, she couldn't hold in the sob that rose in her throat. Relief warred with the darkness.

"Willow?" Tara's voice was shaking, so worried, but the sound of it made Willow's heart sing. "Are you awake baby?"

"Tara," Willow croaked, rolling her head back so she could look up into that beautiful face, those bright eyes. "Hi."

"Hi baby," Tara whispered, her crooked smile seeming out of place with the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Guys, she's awake."

"Hey Wills." She could just see the back of Xander's head over the driver's seat, the white-knuckled grip where his hand clutched the steering wheel.

"Welcome back, Will." Buffy said, turning to face them.

"Buffy," Willow whispered. "You okay?" Tara grieved the hesitance and fear she could hear in her lover's voice.

Buffy smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Don't be worried about me, silly. You're the one who's been out for almost an hour.

"Yeah, no more sleeping on the job," Xander quipped. He was trying to sound light-hearted, but Willow could hear the tension in his voice, the anxiety.

"Xander!" Buffy said, sounding stern.

"Kidding," Xander replied hurriedly.

"S'okay," Willow said, wincing at the raw needles of pain in her throat. "Don't fight." Willow closed her eyes again against the tears she could feel brimming. Tara and Buffy, both so pale, so strained.

"They're not fighting," Tara soothed, brushing her hands over Willow's hair. "They're just worried about you, baby. We're all worried about you."

_Still causing them pain_, Willow thought. The sorrow of it dropped like a stone into the seething mass of her belly. She felt a tear fall.

"Shush," Tara said, rocking Willow now. "It's all right."

Willow shook her head. She was so tired. Every inch of her body ached; she could swear the throbbing even wound through her hair. Xander took a corner a little too sharply; there was a hint of a squeal from the tires. Willow slid on the seat, but didn't mind, it pushed her closer to Tara. She shifted her head to lie pillowed on her love's chest, listened to the soothing sound of her heartbeat. It was fast, but steady, strong. She smiled when Tara gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Love you," Tara murmured, pressing her lips to Willow's hair.

"Love you, so much," Willow replied, looking up into Tara's eyes.

Xander took the car around another sharp bend and Buffy muttered something to him about never being able to joke about her driving skills again. Willow shook with a little chuckle at the hint of normalcy and a delighted smile spread across Tara's face.

"There's my happy girl," Tara said. Her stomach fought between fluttering and clenching as Willow smiled up at her. It was wonderful to see that smile, but Willow was so ashen, looked so frail.

"We're almost there," Xander announced.

As soon as he spoke the words, Willow felt the dark power inside her, moving, straining, imagined it like a hyena rising up off the savannah, testing the air, scenting a kill. _No, _she thought. _Oh please, no. Xander, he told them to take me to the Magic Box._ _They're taking me to the Magic Box_.

Tara watched the smile vanish from Willow's face, but she was still shaking. "Baby?"

"Don't—" Willow whispered, and her eyes began to change, pupils widening, growing until the green of her iris disappeared all together.

Willow bucked in Tara's arms, hand clenching as her arms and legs went rigid. The whites of her eyes began to glow, shift opalescent. She felt like she was being stretched, pulled thin as paper, and soon she would tear apart.

"No," Willow said between gritted teeth, shaking harder and harder.

"Buffy!" Tara cried. Willow began to seize, jerking in her arms.

The slayer took one look at the situation in the back seat and unbuckled her seatbelt, slipping back to help Tara told the thrashing redhead.

"Hurry up, Xander!" Buffy said, wrapping her arms around Willow's legs.

"Oh god," Xander groaned, watching from the rearview mirror. The jeep jumped forward as he hit the accelerator.

"Willow," Tara begged. "Stay with me, please."

The love of her life seized two more times; writhing so fiercely that she almost pulled her legs free from Buffy's grip. And then her eyes closed, and her breath rattled in her chest. Tara stared down at her frozen. She heard Buffy speak, but had no idea what the slayer was saying. Willow was so still, so small.

"Tara," Buffy said, reaching out and shaking the blonde witch. Tara pulled her gaze away from Willow and looked at Buffy open-mouthed. "Is she breathing?"

"Buffy?" Tara asked, her voice shaking. It was like the slayer was whispering to her from the other side of the world.

"Is she breathing?" Buffy repeated urgently.

Tara leaned over Willow's face, fighting the urge to retch. She saw a lock of her own blonde hair brushing over her lover's cheek, but Willow didn't move, didn't respond in any way. _Oh goddess, oh goddess no. _She could feel a scream building in her chest. And then it happened. It was so soft, and so cool, that Tara thought she was imagining it. Several long, long seconds passed, and there it was again. A breath. Tara moved a shaking hand up to Willow's throat and felt a pulse, fast and thready, pounding beneath her fingertips.

"She's b-breathing," Tara said with a shaking laugh. "She's alive."

"Okay," Buffy murmured, squeezing Willow's legs gently. "Okay."

Tara could hear Xander let out a long, rattling breath in the front seat, knew that his face was just as tear-streaked as her own, as Buffy's. The car rolled to a stop.

"We're here," Xander murmured, and his voice was thick with tears.

Tara pulled Willow into her lap and reached for the door handle, but stopped when she felt the slayer's warm hand on her leg.

"Wait," Buffy said softly. "Let me check first, okay?"

"I d-don't—"

"Warren," Xander said, turning in his seat to face them. "Oh man, Warren is still on the loose out here somewhere. What are we going to do about him?"

His face was twisted, red. Tara didn't think she'd ever seen the gentle man so angry. So scared, Tara realized. She looked from Xander to Buffy, saw how numb and worn the slayer looked. Shock. Terror. With everything they'd seen, everything they'd been through, nothing had ever rocked them as much as seeing Willow like this, seeing her so broken. Tara bit her lip, felt the copper tang of blood on her tongue. There wasn't time for tears. She had to take care of her girl. _I'll take care of you, Willow_. Tara thought at her love. _I'll keep everybody safe, somehow._

"I don't care about Warren," Tara said firmly. "We have to take care of Willow. Let Mears take care of himself."

Buffy blinked and nodded her head, flashing Tara a weak smile. "I just need to make sure the coast is clear. Xander, you take Willow. Tara, you follow them and I'll take the rear okay? Let's just get everybody in there safe and sound."

Xander opened his door and rolled out of the car, crouching as he walked toward their door. At the same time Buffy hopped out her door, closing it gently as she darted to the sidewalk to check the street. Before Xander had time to put his hand on the handle of Tara's door, Buffy was already moving back into the alley, checking for threats. She came back to the car as Xander opened the door, sliding Willow gently from Tara's lap. It took everything in the blonde to let him lift Willow away. _Again_, Tara thought bitterly, thinking of the night of Buffy's resurrection. She wanted to hold on to Willow's hand, keep in contact so her lover would know she was there, but didn't want to risk impeding Xander's movements.

"Okay, let's go," Buffy murmured.

Xander ran toward the magic box, clutching Willow to his chest. Tara followed behind him at a jog, crouching down when she felt the gentle pressure of Buffy's hand on the back of her head. They reached the door of the Magic Box and Xander twisted to reach the knob, kicking the door open the rest of the way. Tara was right behind him, she stepped into the shop and Buffy slipped in right after her, throwing the bolt and the chain on the door. Tara heard the click of heels on the tile floor, the panel in the counter flipping up.

"Oh no, I was right," Anya said. "I'm so sorry I was right. I'm mean, it happens a lot," she said mournfully. "But this time I wish I was wrong. I'm really sorry. How did it happen, how did Tara—"

"How did I what?" Tara asked, stepping out from behind Xander.

The ex-vengeance demon's mouth dropped open and her face went pale. Tara thought for a moment that Anya would faint, but instead she threw out her arms and dashed across the shop, sweeping Tara into a tight embrace.

"Tara," she said, sounding joyous and tearful. "I'm so glad you're not dead!"

"Anya," Tara began, touched by her friend's happiness and returning the curly bottle-blonde's hug gently. "I'm sorry you w-were w-worried—"

"Wait," Anya interrupted, pulling away from her. "What happened to Willow? If you're all right, what's with the whole war and summoning Osiris?"

"War?" Buffy asked, walking up to Xander laying a hand on Willow's head. "What do you mean war?"

"And h-how did you k-know about Osiris?" Tara murmured.

Anya threw her arms into the air and groaned. "There's a war in Willow, dark and light. It's tearing her apart." She stared around at Xander and Buffy and Tara and then rolled her eyes. "Xander I can understand. But you," she said pointing at Buffy. "Slayer of dark things. And you," she said, turning to Tara with a frown. "Major powerful Wicca. How can the two of you not feel that?"

To Tara's amazement, and, she was sure, the amazement of Buffy and Xander as well, Anya walked over and laid a gentle hand against Willow's forehead, her face crumpled, a moment away from tears.

"It's okay, Willow." Anya said softly. "I know that all our friends are stupid. But I'm pretty bright. We'll get you through this. Now," she said loudly, stepping away from Willow and putting her hands on her hips. "Can one of you tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Ahn," Xander said. "We'll tell you what we know, but maybe I should lay her down somewhere first?"

"Let's put her on the table in the back," Buffy said.

Xander took a step in that direction and stopped when he found himself confronted by Anya, barring his path with her arms spread.

"My god, I know you people are stupid, but I didn't think you were complete and total idiots. War," she said slowly. "Going on in Willow. We need to keep her away from magic stuff, especially dark magic stuff. Books bad," she said, pointing back toward the table. "Keep her up here."

Tara watched the exchange between Anya, Xander, and Buffy without saying a word. _Major powerful Wicca_, Tara thought. She opened up her senses to the energy swirling around the magic box, gasped when she looked at Willow. The girl's aura was a wreck. The beautiful ambers and greens that usually glowed around her like light filtering down through forest leaves were nearly completely eclipsed by the same jet that kept filling her eyes. Flares of iridescent white flowed and flared sporadically through the black, like heat lightning. It was Willow, Tara realized, Willow fighting to hold on to herself. She slid Willow's hand free of Xander's grasp and held it against her chest, and repeated one thought again and again: _I love you Willow, I love you._

Anya looked around the room for a moment, biting her lip. "Yeah, if she has to be here at all, it better be right here. You can lay her here," Anya said, pointing to the center of the floor between the front door and the counter. She pulled off the black sweater she was wearing and balled it up on the floor.

Tara kept hold of Willow's hand as Xander walked over to the sweater, lowering herself to the ground as he laid Willow down, using the sweater like a pillow to cushion her head from the hard tile of the floor. Buffy straightened Willow's legs and pulled off her own jacket, using it to cover Willow's legs.

"Thanks Buffy," Tara said gratefully, pressing Willow's hand against her lips.

"Don't forget about my sweater," Anya quipped. "That's a three hundred and fifty dollar pillow your girl is laying on there." She bit the tip of her thumb thoughtfully, looking around the shop. "We've got to get this stuff away from her. She walked over to the counter and kicked the wood, seemed satisfied by the thunk. "It's yarrow, it'll block a lot of the potency of this stuff." Without any preamble, she swept everything on top of the counter off onto the floor behind it.

"Anya," Buffy began.

"Don't just stand there, super-strength," Anya replied, grabbing an armful of statues from the shelf next to the counter and throwing them over as well. "Pick up some magic stuff and dump it back here, or back there," she said waving toward the research table. Just get it away from Willow."

"Anh," Xander said softly, wincing as another armful of merchandise went crashing behind the counter. "You're breaking stuff, shouldn't we be more gentle?"

"This is no time to worry about money or about being gentle, Xander." She shook her head. "You never knew when to be rough in the sack either. Look," she said sternly. "This isn't housework, Xander, because you're not at home. It's a shop, so get with the moving." She lifted an armful of books off the lower shelf and tossed them over, then grabbed a large sculpted metal pentagram and sent it flying across the shop with a clang.

"Oh god," Xander murmured. Tara watched his eyes dart to Willow and then back to his ex-fiancée. "This is bad. It's got to be really bad. Anya's not worried about losing money."

"Hah hah, I joke at the expense of the newest human," Anya said, rolling her eyes. "Enough jokes. Just help me, Xander. Besides," Tara heard Anya murmur as she walked past with another armload of goods. "I'm so billing the watcher's council for this."

Buffy paused with an armload of Magic Box merchandise in her arms, poised to throw it over the counter. "Anya, we could just put her in the practice room, no bad magic mojo back there."

"Sure Buffy," Anya wheezed, struggling with the weight of a huge amethyst geode she was carrying. She threw it over the counter and sighed at the tinkling sound of glass breaking. "Then she'll have plenty of weapons to impale and chop us with when she snaps."

Tara felt a hot wash of anger sweep through her body. She knew the vengeance demon believed in total honesty, that life was too short not to speak your mind, but she'd gone too far.

"Anya," she said, voice shaking. "Willow would never, ever hurt us."

Anya turned to Tara with a look of such sorrow, such tender kindness, that it left the blonde shaken. "I hope you're right," she said, smiling softly as she chucked a bronze Buddha statue over her shoulder, sending it unerringly behind the counter though she'd never taken a look. "But let's not test it now, okay?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"That guys' been looking at me," Jonathan Levinson whispered to his cellmate. "I think he wants to make me his butt monkey."

Jonathan shifted closer to Andrew, who was nearly lost in the deep shadows already filling their cell though it couldn't have been past three o'clock.

Andrew sighed, rubbing his hands over his face as he tried not to think about the springs biting into his back through his thin mattress. About how many years, decades he would probably spend lying on the same type of bed. He ran his fingers over his arms again, searching for the telltale sign of a chip, a transponder, anything…

"Don't flatter yourself," he told Jonathan with a smirk. "I heard him talking to the guard. He's in here for parking tickets."

"That doesn't mean anything," Jonathan squeaked, leaning towards Andrew. "The joint changes you. I hear they like the small ones, with little hands, like their girlfriends."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm breaking you out of here then, huh my girlie-handed minions?"

Andrew couldn't believe it. Jonathan was staring over his shoulder toward the window, mouth hanging open. When he turned to see what Jonathan was staring at, a beatific smile spread across Andrew's face.

"Warren," he breathed.

"Hey guys, time to go. Unless you'd like to stay?" Warren asked, grinning from the other side of their bars.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

"Warren," Andrew said softly. "I knew you'd come for us." Warren's hair was lit with a glow from the sunlight outside their cell.

In Andrew's mind, Warren was the perfect picture of the valiant hero, climbing up to rescue his boon companions, a knight in shining armor who would sweep in to rescue his fair-haired damsel, gracing her lips with a crushing kiss—in a totally non-gay one dude coming to rescue another dude kind of way. His daydream was disrupted by a long, low laugh from Jonathan.

"What, Jonathan?" Andrew snapped.

"So what went wrong?" Jonathan asked, ignoring Andrew.

"What do you mean?" Andrew pouted, stomping his foot. "Stop ignoring me."

Jonathan turned to him with a tight little grin on his face. "What I mean, Andrew, is that Warren would never risk jail coming to save us unless we had something he wanted, or he was desperate." He turned to Warren, still smiling. "I'm guessing it's a little bit of both. So, what went wrong?"

Warren's grin never faltered. "Hey guys, time to go. Unless you'd like to stay?" He repeated.

"Warren," Andrew said softly. "Ignore the long lost fourth member of the lollipop guild. Are you all right?"

Warren nodded and Andrew felt a little burst of relief until Warren said cheerfully, "Hey guys, time to go. Unless you'd like to stay?"

Jonathan began to laugh. "Hate to burst your traitorous, jet-pack having bubble, Andrew, but your precious Warren didn't come to rescue us."

"What are you talking about?" Andrew squealed, gesturing toward the window. "He's right here. Warren, tell him you're right here."

"He didn't come to rescue us," Jonathan repeated, lying back on his cot with the arms folded behind his head. "He sent one of his damned bots to do it." He crossed his feet and laughed again. "Look Warren-bot, go back to your mad scientist creator and tell him he'll just have to fix his problems himself this time. I'm staying here."

"Jonathan Levinson and Andrew Wells must accompany me to the preprogrammed destination." The Warren-bot said cheerfully.

"So Warren sent a bot," Andrew muttered. "That doesn't mean anything. Warren's just being smart. What good would it do us if he came to save us and ended up getting arrested himself?"

"Shut up, Andrew," Jonathan snapped. "And you shut up too," he told the Warren-bot. "Why should we go anywhere with you?"

Andrew fell backwards onto the floor as the Warren-bot slowly bent the bars to their jail cell, the metal shrieking in protest. Jonathan sat up and scrambled to the far end of his cot, pressing again the wall. The Warren-bot stepped into their cell and dropped two harnesses and a coil of rope on the floor, still grinning that broad, disturbing smile.

"If Jonathan Levinson and Andrew Wells will not return to the preprogrammed destination then my programming states that they must be eliminated."

"E-eliminated?" Andrew breathed.

"What?" Jonathan squawked. "He programmed you to kill us?"

"Warren Mears must be sure that no person is left in police custody who may be able to bring condemning evidence against him in a court of law, in the event, however slim the chance, that he was ever captured." The Warren-bot took another step toward them.

"We're coming with you!" Andrew and Jonathan replied at the same moment, standing up and grabbing the harnesses.

"Hey guys, time to go. Unless you'd like to leave your bodies here?" The Warren-bot asked.

"We're harnessing as fast as we can," Jonathan panted, pulling the final strap over his shoulder. "Come on Andrew," he growled, tugging the boy's harness up.

"Harness wedgie," Andrew whined, and then looked over at the Warren-bot. He shuddered at the site of that fixed grin. "I'll complain about it later."

The Warren-bot tied the rope off on the bent bars, and watched as Jonathan and Andrew rappelled to the ground. As soon as their feet hit the pavement the bot leapt from the cell, landing with a distinctly metallic clang. The bot ripped the harnesses off Jonathan and Andrew effortlessly.

"Thanks," Jonathan choked, thinking about how much easier it was to tear human flesh than inch-and-a-half thick nylon.

The Warren-bot threw his arms around the shoulders of the two quavering boys and squeezed them close, pulling them along as he strolled off down the street toward their unknown destination.

"I hope my programmed joke didn't cause untoward anxiety," the bot said, and then tilted back his head and let out a long mechanical squeal. "Ah, my maker has such a sense of humor."

"Right," Jonathan drawled.

"See Jonathan," Andrew said hesitantly, leaning forward to glare at the smaller man. "Everything is going to be fine. Better than fine." He smiled and gave a little chuckle. "We're all going to be together again."

"Hooray," Jonathan muttered, "The Manson family reunion."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Magic Box looked like it had been robbed. The front half of the store was completely bare, all the magical books, statues, crystals, candles and sundry other items had either been tossed behind the counter or moved back into Buffy's training room, all in the effort to create a safe space for Willow. Anya had gone so far as to order Xander and Buffy to move the freestanding shelves back into the training room as well, afraid of the magical residue that might've permeated the oak and pine. The final step in the buffer was a large circle built of yarrow branches, surrounding Tara and Willow.

Tara held Willow cradled in her lap, watching her lover closely, afraid that the redhead might begin to seize again, stop breathing, or—Tara shook her head, running a hand down Willow's hair. _You'll be fine_, Tara thought, pulling Willow more tightly against her. _You have to be, baby._ Each breath Willow took was shallow and quick, and Tara could see her eyes darting under shadowed lids. Her aura revealed her struggle so clearly. Tara's heart leapt at each glimpse of amber and green, only to watch again and again as black and pearl roiled like a storm in her love, in the essence of everything that made her Willow.

_I'm going to help you._ Tara thought, closing her eyes and laying a gentle hand against Willow's cheek. As she had back in Buffy's yard, Tara found herself driven to call on her magics, her connection to the earth, and share that energy with Willow. She called on the name of all the goddesses that she knew, asking for their blessing as she channeled the power gifted to her into her lover. Tara could feel the energy moving through her body in pulses. She took slow deep breaths, trembling with effort of passing her strength to Willow slowly, gradually.

"Tara?"

Without changing her breathing, or wavering in her focus, Tara opened her eyes and saw Buffy watching her, crouched down on the far side of the yarrow circle. There were little flecks of light in Tara's vision, she blinked and shook her head as the world gave a slight tilt to the right.

"What's wrong Buffy?"

The slayer shook her head. "We've moved everything we can, Anya even had me pull up a few things that probably should've have been permanently attached, but if I hadn't, Xander would've tried and just ended up hurting himself." She smiled weakly, but it didn't show in her eyes. "We were about to hit research mode and we saw you looking kind of pale."

Tara looked back at the research table and Xander held up a hand, giving her a small wave. Anya stood on the far side of the table from him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, leg wiggling impatiently. She gave a nod when she saw Tara looking.

"I'm f-fine," Tara replied.

"You're sure? Cause I can sit with her for a little while, if you need a break—"

Tara just shook her head. "She needs me."

Buffy nodded her head; her hands picking at a frayed seam on the bottom her shirt. "I know, we know," she said, waving a hand back toward Xander and Anya. "But if you need a break, need to rest…"

"I'll tell you, I p-promise."

Buffy nodded again, but didn't move. "What about something to eat? Have you even looked at food today?"

Tara shrugged. "I'm not hungry," she replied. And then she yawned. As if that weren't damning enough, as the yawn ended her stomach let out a long, low gurgle. Tara couldn't stop herself; she blushed and ducked her head.

"Okay," Buffy said sardonically. "Not tired or hungry. I can see that. And hear it."

Tara looked up at the slayer and found Buffy was really smiling at her now, a small grin, but an earnest one. She was holding a wrapped bar out toward Tara.

"Please, just eat something. I-When, when Will wakes up, I don't want her to be mad at me because you passed out from exhaustion or lack of food." When Tara didn't move to take the offered bar, Buffy sighed. "It's just a granola bar from my slayer kit. You know I always get hungry after I wallop on some vamps. Come on," she said, waving the bar up and down. "Xander and Anya already have theirs. Succumb to peer pressure. Eat."

Tara looked up and had to laugh when she saw Xander wave again, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he chewed. Anya held up the wrapper for her granola bar like she was holding a dead mouse by its tail. The ex-demon patted her stomach with her free hand.

"Yummy high fructose corn syrup and grain mash," she called to Tara across the shop. "Eat up!"

Tara held out her hand toward Buffy and the slayer unwrapped the end of the granola bar, leaning across the yarrow barrier to hand it to her, smiling gratefully. Tara took a big bite of the bar, chewed, and swallowed without tasting a thing. She set the rest of the bar down on her knee and Buffy cleared her throat.

"I promise I'll eat the whole thing," Tara murmured.

"And you'll let one of us take a shift in a little while? You need to rest too, Tare."

"I need to be with her, Buffy." Tara said softly, looking down at Willow and stroking her hair. Love swelled in her, so big, so bright, that she was surprised her skin didn't shine with it. "I don't want to leave her," she choked on her next words. "Not again."

"Tara—" Buffy began.

"If I'd stayed," Tara said. She looked up and flinched at the pity she saw in Buffy's eyes, immediately dropping her gaze back down to Willow. "If I'd helped her th-through her problem, maybe this wouldn't be happening."

"Hey," Buffy said. She stepped over the barrier and dropped to her knees next to Tara, giving the blonde girl's arm and gentle squeeze. "Tara."

Tara looked up at Buffy—the slayer wasn't smiling anymore.

"You did what you had to do," she said, squeezing Tara's arm again. "You tried to help Willow, for months, and it just wasn't sinking in." Buffy took a deep breath. "I think it took you leaving for her to realize that she really had a problem. If you hadn't…I don't know…"

"If she would've stopped?" Tara whispered.

"Yeah," Buffy replied. "Yeah." She paused and then let out a long, slow sigh. "Willow's my best friend Tara, but you're part of my family too. I need you to be okay too."

_That's just it_, Tara thought, holding back a sob. _It's a package deal of okay. I can't be okay until my Willow's okay._ "Package deal," she murmured, voice thick.

"I get that," Buffy said, nodding. "I really do."

"If I get tired, I'll lay down here with her, I promise," Tara replied.

"Okay." Buffy straightened and stepped back out of the circle. "Don't forget to finish the rest of that," she said, waving a hand toward the half-eaten granola bar.

"I promise," Tara repeated.

Tara shifted her gaze back to Willow as the slayer walked away. Her lover still slept, if what she was doing could be called sleep, still panted with shallow breaths. Tara let her eyes lose focus as she looked at Willow's aura and felt her heart give a little leap. She could see the energy she was giving Willow, its swirls of golden, earthy brown, of ocean blue, pushing at the storm, leaving amber and evergreen in its wake.

"Come on, Will," Tara murmured, pressing her lips to Willow's forehead. "Wake up. Come back to me."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Warren-bot led Jonathan and Andrew on a twisting path through Sunnydale, sticking to alleyways and back roads. They even spent a harrowing and nauseating half hour walking through the sewers when the bot forced them down into the underground labyrinth, claiming that he could hear sirens within a few blocks of their location. When the group left the sewers, the world was darkening toward twilight, and so it took the pair a moment to realize where the bot had taken them.

"Great," Jonathan moaned, rubbing his face. "Just when I thought we couldn't do any worse than the sewers."

They were standing in front of crumbling ruins of Sunnydale High.

"Aw man," Andrew whined. "I hate high school."

Both boys let out high-pitched squeals when the Warren-bot grabbed their collars and dragged them toward the entrance to the school. "We must continue our progress toward the preprogrammed destination."

"Hey," Jonathan fumed, giving a little gasp of pain as the bot pulled them over the stretch of broken concrete leading up to the crumpled remains of the school. "We can walk, we can walk."

"We must continue—"

"It'll be faster if you let us walk, you giant toaster!" Jonathan shouted.

He pitched forward onto his face when the bot released him without warning. Jonathan laid there, lungs searing, and felt a hand grip his belt loop. The bot lifted him off the ground effortlessly, leaving his arms and legs swinging in the air. Jonathan opened his mouth to speak and the bot shook him once, hard.

"Releasing you did not increase your speed of progress. Further attempts to delay arrival at our preprogrammed destination will result in elimination."

"Don't fight it Jonathan," Andrew said softly. The blond boy had his legs crossed and his hands tucked in his pocket, he looked like he was lying in a hammock, not being pulled across the ground by a potentially homicidal robot. "Soon we'll be with Warren and everything will be fine."

"That makes me feel much better," Jonathan gasped.

"I'd think being out of jail would make you feel better, Jonathan." Warren stepped out of shadow of the shattered doorway into the school. "Drop 'em, handsome," he told the bot.

Jonathan caught himself on his hands and knees while Andrew fell onto his backside with a girlie shriek.

"Are you the real Warren, or another bot come to threaten us and drag us off somewhere else?" Jonathan said, pushing himself to his feet.

"Pouty really doesn't become you," Warren replied. He pressed his fingers in a quick pattern on the Warren-bot's chest and the bot moved itself against the burned wall of the hallway. Its eyes flared red, sending a spider web of lines across the entrance. "Security mode," he said cheerfully. "If anybody tries to get in here he'll let us know. Anyone tries to get out without me…" He paused, smiling. "Well, you wouldn't get out without me, let's put it that way. Come on guys," he said happily, gesturing back into dark. "Let's chat."

Warren walked back into the school and let a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face when he heard Andrew and Jonathan scurry into action behind him. The interior of the school was even more pathetic and blasted than the outside, filled with half-collapsed walls, burnt chunks of insulation on the floors and spilling from the walls, and wiring like misshapen serpents, hanging from the ceiling. He led them through the debris, and then suddenly it gave way, leaving the trio standing in a wide, open space.

"Home sweet home boys," Warren said. He gestured toward some sleeping bags, a lantern, and folding table piled together in the corner of the space. "All the comforts of a refugee camp courtesy of a hair transplant and some sunglasses on that handsome bot out there."

He walked around Jonathan and Andrew in a slow circle. "Well, not all thanks to the handsome bot, huh? From the comfort of a home and the power of a demigod to a campout in a dank cave on the hellmouth, courtesy of the slayer."

"Buffy?" Jonathan said, turning to watch Warren's progress. "What does this have to do with Buffy?"

"Hello?" Warren said, freezing in his tracks. He leaned forward until his face was just inches from Jonathan's. "This has everything. To do. With that little. Blonde. Bitch!" He screamed the last word, spraying spittle over Jonathan's face. Warren blinked and stepped back, smiling again, and he resumed his slow path around his allies. "Every move we make she's there to block us, and no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try. She just won't stay dead."

"You tried to kill her again?" Jonathan asked incredulously. "But you got away."

"He wouldn't just leave without us, Jonathan," Andrew said bitingly.

"Oh, I killed her," Warren said. He pointed at Jonathan with two fingers and shouted, "Bang. Bang. Bang."

"Wow," Andrew breathed. "You shot her?"

"But she won't stay dead. And you know why?"

Andrew shook his head as Jonathan grumbled under his breath about good conquering evil.

"Of course you don't. How could you when I didn't figure it out until today?" Warren laughed. "It was too simple, that's why I missed it. Buffy's the slayer, she's got the strength and the agility, sure, but we've hit her with physical attacks, psychological attacks, magical attacks, and nothing. It's because she's protected." He slapped his hands together and then rubbed his palms slowly, back and forth. "Take away her protection, and the slayer is as good as dead."

"Her protection?" Jonathan asked

"The witches," Andrew breathed.

"Give the boy a gold star!" Warren cried. Andrew beamed.

"First you want to kill Buffy and now you want to kill Rosenberg and the blonde?" Jonathan asked.

"Her girlfriend," Andrew giggled.

"Shut up, Andrew," Jonathan snapped, slapped the boy in the back of the head. "This isn't funny."

"No, it isn't," Warren agreed. "Do I hear some hesitation there, Jonathan?" He came to a halt again, staring at Jonathan. "Because if you're not sure that you want to be a part of the Trio, a part of our quest glory, maybe you should just stay here with the bot while Andrew and I change the world."

Warren's voice was calm, but his eyes were wide, wilding and darting. Jonathan had a very clear realization. Warren Mears was a complete and total maniac, a basket case. And if he stayed behind with the bot, he would never walk out of Sunnydale High again.

"That's not what I said," Jonathan replied in a rush, waving his hands. "It's just that…if they're so powerful, if they've thwarted us at every turn, how are we supposed to beat them now?"

"We'll fight magic with magic," Warren replied.

"Uh, I don't know if demons are gonna do it," Andrew murmured, wringing his hands.

"No, not demons," Warren agreed. Andrew looked over at Jonathan and Warren laughed, shaking his head. "Not shorty either. No, my happy idiots, we need someone powerful. Someone who knows Rosenberg's weaknesses." A smile spread across his face, sincere and absolutely mad. "I know just the guy."

He walked toward the hallway, turning back to wave Jonathan and Andrew into motion. "Let's go. Or did you two decide to keep Mr. Handsome up there company?"

Andrew and Jonathan rushed to Warren's side and he led them down a new path through the ruined school. The area was dank, thick with the stench of mold and decay. The sound of water dripping against metal was a sharp ping behind every sound they made—the echo of their footsteps, their breath, Warren's off-key humming.

"I don't see why we couldn't try going after them," Andrew sulked after stepping down into a knee-deep puddle. "There's this one demon—"

"Andrew, Andrew," Warren said, clapping a hand on the blond boy's shoulder. "I don't need you to make demons that will just get taken out by the slayer and her witches. I need you and Jonathan for something far more important."

They walked around a corner and came face to face with a large double door.

"What's that?" Jonathan asked, suddenly afraid that Warren was about to use them as part of some terrible blood sacrifice.

Warren pushed open the door and stepped out into the night, barely visible in the light cast from the crescent moon, the stars. "I need you two to lead me to the magic man. I need you to lead me to Rack."

Jonathan froze on the threshold of the school and Andrew stepped up beside him, looking pale.

"Rack?" Andrew quavered. "Uh, I don't know, Warren. I've heard really bad things about that guy."

"Well that's perfect then, isn't it?" Warren replied. "Because we want to do really bad things."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Warren, Jonathan, and Andrew wandered alleys all around Sunnydale, trying to find, Rack's place. It took hours, but finally they were able to feel the heat, the sinister draw, of the magic man's lair. When they parted the shielding to gain entrance, when the air and their own images rippled like water, both Jonathan and Andrew had a small moment of appreciation for that beauty, though neither would've admitted it. The moment passed as quickly as it came, as both men saw very quickly it was just another false front, another draw, to pull in the weak, the wounded.

The place might've been nice, once, a long time ago, if it had ever been cleaned. If it didn't look and smell like the walls had been painted with a wash of every possible bodily excretion known to man and demon kind. Under it all there was a sweet, rotted scent, like decaying flowers. A thick coat of dust and cobwebs muted the light from the old glass-paned lamps scattered around the room.

Rack's place was faded, putrid, just like the pale, bedraggled people waiting for their next fix. There was no beauty here.

"If someone had told me this morning that by tonight I'd be free and missing my jail cell, I would've told them they were full of crap." Jonathan muttered. "Silly me."

"Ew," Andrew drawled, staring around the room. "Just…ew."

"You two shut up," Warren snapped, slapping both of them in the back of the head. "Just go, go sit over there on that thing that used to be a sofa." He waved an arm toward a long rectangular lump of vomity mustard-brown fabric.

They slouched over to the couch, sat perched on the edge of the cushions, trying to touch as little of the dirty fabric as possible. Warren gave them a little nod, a satisfied smirk curling his face at their obedience. Without a word, he turned and pushed past the scraggly, pathetic junkies waiting for Rack, taking the first spot in front of the thick oak door to the warlock's chambers. Warren raised his hand to knock, and found the door opening beneath his hand, just as his flesh was about the strike the wood. Instead his fist was hanging in front of a craggy face, thick with scars, framed by lank brown hair. Eyes bored into Warren, one a bright slate gray, the other a horrific, pale milky-blue.

"What can I do for you…sir?" Rack asked drolly, smirking.

Warren snatched his hand down. "I need weapons. I can pay."

"Target?" Rack replied, still smirking, one eyebrow creeping up.

Warren slid a hand into his pocket and pulled it out, holding up a fat wad of bills. "I have a few witches I need to take care of."

"Witches, huh?" Rack's smirk widened. "Sounds like that could be fun. My first suggestion would be to get a shield, preferably a fleshy, screaming, distracting one." The warlock's gaze flickered over Warren's shoulder and back again. "But it looks like you already have a matched set," he murmured, chuckling.

Warren looked at Jonathan and Andrew, both sitting perfectly still, just their eyes darting around for any sign of danger. _Pathetic,_ Warren thought. "Yeah," he told Rack in a whisper. " But Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum aren't going to last long. What else have you got?"

"You gotta tell me a bit more about the ladies that are giving you trouble." Rack leaned toward Warren and leered as he said ladies. "The more I know, the more effective the weapons. And if you're going after real witches, not simpering little dabblers, you're gonna need good weapons."

"We've got to take out Jean Gray and Ms. Marvel if we have any hope of getting rid of Rogue," Andrew called cheerfully.

Warren watched a look of confusion cross and vanish from Rack's face, to be quickly replaced by annoyance. "Chatty, isn't he."

Before Warren could reply, Jonathan elbowed Andrew in the side. "Shut up numb-nut. The powerful, creepy warlock doesn't want to hear about your fanboy comic book addiction." The little man took a breath, eyes shifting to Warren. "Besides, if we're going to focus on anybody it better be Jea-Rosenberg. It better be Rosenberg. You heard what she did to that hell god last year."

All the expression dropped from Rack's face. He held up a hand, fingers curving in like talons. At the same moment Warren felt something grip his throat.

"What?" He croaked.

Rack lifted his arm and Warren's feet left the floor. He took gasping little breaths, scrabbling with both hands at the invisible force gripping his throat, finding nothing but his own skin. The warlock yanked his hand toward his own body and Warren found himself floating face to face with the scarred man.

"You're out to kill _my _Strawberry?" Rack asked in a low growl. He shook his fist and Warren flailed in the air, his head snapping back. "I don't let anybody play with my toys."

"Don't listen to the shields," Warren gasped, desperate to take a full breath of air into his burning lungs.

"Did he just call us shields? He called us shields!" Jonathan hissed to Andrew. "Your precious Warren is going to get us killed."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "S.H.I.E.L.D you ass, he's keeping with the comics reference. It's a Nick Fury joke. Don't worry, he's got Rack right where he wants him."

Jonathan watched Warren kicking and flailing in front of the furious warlock, like he was trying to tread air. "Oh yeah, I'm the ass in this scenario. Sure."

Warren wheezed and saw dark spots begin to float across his vision. Rack was like a statue of some malevolent, ugly god, glaring at him as his hand clenched tighter.

"You want your strawberry?" He gasped. "I can make it happen."

"What? Can't hear you…" Rack laughed.

"I can get you your strawberry," Warren screamed, throat raw. "Just yours, forever." His eyes closed as the pressure on his throat tightened. His chest burnt like he'd been set on fire. _So close_, he thought. _I was so close_.

And then he was falling. For a moment Warren wondered if he was feeling his soul leave his body, felt a brief flair of nerves at the distinctly downward direction, but then he slammed into the floor. He sprawled on the filthy tile, grateful for the gritty coolness, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

"Up," Rack barked.

Warren staggered as the force returned, pulling him to his feet. He opened his eyes and found himself face to face with the warlock; their faces only inches apart. Rack spoke again, and Warren was washed in a flood of warm breath that smelled of dying roses. The cloying dead-flower scent that filled the place—that was the warlock, essence of Rack. A wave of nausea swept over him.

"You're gonna get me my girl?"

Warren lifted his hand to his throat, nodding his head. "That's right. We can get you your girl. Look, these two witches, they guard the slayer. I want her dead, and that's not ever going to happen because together, the witches are too powerful."

He took a breath, still rubbing his throat. "But if their bond is broken, if one of them dies, the other will be weakened." Warren took a step closer to Rack, staring up at that milky eye. "You want your strawberry? That's fine. Help us take out the blonde and Willow will be broken. You can bring her back here to your lovely home and fix her."

The warlock stared at him. For the third time that day, Warren wondered if he was going to die. Rack reached out and Warren closed his eyes, waiting for the Vader death grip to start again. His eyes shot open when the warlock patted him on the back.

"The blonde huh?" Rack said, his smile revealing a mouthful of crooked, yellowed teeth. "Amy told me all about her. I've been waiting to play with her for ages." Warren winced when Rack smacked him again, leaving his back stinging. The warlock laughed. "Now that's a plan."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tara was curled on the floor in the yarrow circle, feigning sleep, with Willow cradled to her chest. She'd been watching her fellow Scoobies, her friends, her family, pouring over books for hours, looking for some way to help Willow. After several more entreaties from Buffy and Xander to eat, to rest, she'd laid down with her lover just to ease one of their worries. She knew sleep wouldn't come, her fear kept it at bay. So she watched over them, watched over her beloved, the world haloed by her own golden lashes.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Buffy groaned, tossing another book down on the table. "We need a plan."

"Just add that to the long, long list of things that go wrong when we don't have Wills around to help out," Xander muttered sadly.

Anya flipped through the book in her hands with vicious little swipes; smacking each page in place as if it were personally responsible for the situation they'd found themselves in.

"You're sure she said Ter Sis Animi?" She asked Xander, frowning. "I've never heard of it."

"Tara said that's what Willow told her." Xander said, his voice soft.

"Maybe she got it wrong." Anya replied.

"It was definitely Ter Sis Animi," Tara said, holding Willow against her as she sat up in the circle.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you—"

Tara shook her head. "I wasn't asleep, Anya. It's all right."

Buffy stuck her finger in the spine of the heavy, leather-bound text she was skimming to hold her place, and closed the cover. "Did you get any rest at all?"

Tara opened her mouth to reassure the slayer and then closed it again. It wouldn't do them any good to start hiding things from each other. She shook her head.

"Couldn't sleep."

Buffy just nodded and looked down at the book she was holding. Xander closed his book and put his head in his hands with a sigh. Anya stared at them both and then threw down the book she was holding. It landed with a loud thud on the table. Tara gave a little jerk, startled by the sudden noise.

"It's probably in one of the books that Giles took with him, back to London." Anya gave a throaty growl and picked the book up and slammed it down again. "Damn it, I told him he should leave the books here. He went home to tea-and-crumpet town, we're on the freakin' hellmouth here!"

"Anya," Xander said gently, laying a hand on her book. "I wish all the books were here too, but I don't think beating the ones Giles left behind will make them talk."

"Books-shmooks," Buffy sighed. "I wish Giles were here."

"Me too, Buffy."

Her voice was a groan, so soft that Tara thought she was imagining it at first. "Willow?" She asked, voice shaking.

"Hey baby," Willow replied softly. She opened her eyes and smiled up at Tara weakly.

"Hey love," Tara said, giddy with relief. "I've been missing you." She leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her lover's forehead, helping Willow to sit up a bit, propping the redhead against her body.

"Willow!" Buffy and Xander exclaimed together, rushing over to the yarrow circle, followed closely by Anya.

"How you feeling, Will?" Xander asked, reaching over the boundary to lay a hand on Willow's leg.

"Okay," Willow replied. Buffy shot her a look of pure skepticism and Willow grinned, wincing at the pain the lanced through her head. "And by okay I mean alive, tired, and kind of really terribly achy." She scanned the Magic Box and her brow furrowed. The place was a mess. "You guys have been busy while I was out. What's with the minimalist look?"

"Call it the Willow special," Buffy said tenderly, squeezing Willow's ankle.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, Anya," Willow said, looking up at the former demon.

"It was Anya's idea, Willow," Tara murmured.

Willow closed her eyes at the swell of gratitude that grew in her chest, pressing back at the darkness flickering inside her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Anya replied, sounding surprised. "We've all been worried." She paused and leaned closer to Willow and Tara, hands clasped in front of herself. "So," Anya said then, her voice soft and kind, "Do you feel like you're going to snap and kill us all yet?"

Willow recoiled from the former demon, burying her face in Tara's chest. Anya's words triggered a flood of memories, each one more terrible than the last, of how she'd hurt her friends, how close she'd come to killing them, when she lost herself. _Not again,_ Willow thought. _Never again, please._

"Anya," Tara gasped, taking Willow in her arms. "Stop it."

Xander took Anya by the arm and pulled her away from the circle.

"What?" She said, looking around at all of them with her hands on her hips. "A little advance warning would be nice!" Anya pulled away from Xander, glaring up at the carpenter. "And keep your grabby hands to yourself, Xander. You've lost touchy privileges."

"Oh I remember," Xander said, voice absolutely caustic. "You transferred those to Spike."

Anya opened her mouth to speak but in an instant Buffy was there, standing between them, holding out her hands. "This isn't the time, guys." She looked from Anya to Xander and back again. "We've got to help Willow. The minute we know for sure that she'll be all right, feel free to beat the crap out of each other. Hell, I might even sell tickets." She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was low, emphatic. "For now, shut up."

"Sorry, Buffy," Xander murmured, cheeks flushed.

"Sorry," Anya echoed. She walked back to the research table and picked up a new book. "Page one," she murmured, dropping into a chair.

While Buffy and Xander hovered, torn between their best friend and getting back to research, Tara rocked Willow, felt the trembling that Anya's thoughtlessness had provoked begin to ease. She pressed her lips to the redhead's hair and hummed softly, pausing every now and again to punctuate the tune with a kiss. After she made it through a few bars, her efforts had the desired effect; Willow leaned back and looked up at her with a teary smile.

"Are you humming the theme song for Greatest American Hero?" Willow asked her, flashing a tiny and incredulous grin.

"I had to find some way to get a smile out of you," Tara teased. "Desperate times and all."

"Oh, how I love you," Willow whispered, felt a tear streak down her cheek. Her head hurt, everything hurt, a bone-deep ache that she knew might never leave her, and it just didn't matter. She was in Tara's arms. "Sorry, I feel like a leaky water sprinkler."

Tara kissed her way down Willow's face, from the crown of her head, to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, and then kissed her gently on the mouth. When she pulled back from the soft, lingering kiss, Willow felt Tara's lips press down after her tears.

"You're my little sprinkler," Tara whispered, feeling her own warm breath bounce back from Willow's ear. "And I love you too. Just don't fight it baby, goddess knows you've…you've been through so much."

For the first time Tara found herself thinking about what it really meant. Three years. Alone. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of it. Tara didn't know if she would've had the strength to go on without Willow, and she knew she never wanted to find out.

There was a rush of relief at the permission inherent in Tara's words. Willow's body shook as she gave in, allowing herself to feel the pain and regret of her own potential for evil, her fierce joy and gratitude for the woman holding her. The war of magic in her faded in that moment, it was a pale echo of the depth of emotion she was feeling. She crawled up all the way into Tara's lap, letting her lover rock and sooth her like a little child. Even as she accepted the offered solace gratefully, she could feel the magic tension rising in her body like a moon-pulled tide, feel the dull ache of it stoking back into agony in her gut, her bones. Willow gasped at the pain of it and then fell into a coughing fit.

"Easy," Tara soothed, patting Willow on the back. "Easy."

"Is she okay?" Buffy asked, crouching down in front of them.

Willow nodded her head, keeping her face carefully blank despite the pain of moving. "I'm okay. Could I have a drink?"

"Water coming up," Xander replied, wringing his hands. "Unless you want coffee instead? Cause I can go and get coffee. Mochas all around."

"Water's fine, thanks Xander." Willow smiled up at her dear friend and he nodded, heading back into Buffy's workout room, she was sure, to grab a bottle of water for her. She felt a gently squeeze on her ankle and looked down to see Buffy watching her.

"Hey Buff," she said, trying to smile.

"Hey Will," Buffy said gently. "We haven't had any luck finding out information about the whole Ter Sis Animi thing." She paused, sighed. "What should we do?"

_I wish I knew,_ Willow thought. There was only one certainty. "I shouldn't stay here," she told Buffy. "It isn't safe for me to be here."

"Where should we go?" Tara asked.

Willow shook her head. "I don't know, baby."

"Do we need to get you out of Sunnydale?" Buffy asked.

Willow pressed herself against Tara, pulled her lover's arms more tightly around her. "I don't know if that will help."

"I return, victorious, with water," Xander said, strolling up to the yarrow circle. "Why's everyone all frowny?" He asked. "Did I miss something?"

"Just trying to figure out what to do, Xan-man," Willow replied. She put on a smile, knowing that Xander would probably see right through it.

"Let's just take it one step at a time, huh?" He asked, holding out the bottle. "The first thing you should do is have a drink."

Willow reached for the bottle, frowning at the noticeable tremble. Before she could do more than wrap her hand around it, Tara was there, adding her grip to it, helping Willow bring the bottle to her mouth.

"Thank you, baby," she told Tara, taking a sip.

Tara kept a gentle pressure on the bottle, taking the weight of it, letting Willow guide it to and away from her mouth almost effortlessly. After a few sips she could feel the trembling in her arms ease. Tara must've felt it to, because she let the bottle slide from her fingers and moved her hand up to Willow's hair, stroking her from the crown of her head to the ends of her hair where it brushed her shoulders. Willow leaned into Tara and took another sip of water.

"We're gonna go back to research mode," Buffy said, patting Willow's leg. She stood and took Xander by the arm. "Call us if you need anything." The pair moved back to the table in silence.

The cool water and Tara's warmth were a comfort, a physical lullaby. She let her eyes drift closed again, breathing deep of her love's scent, and wondered if she would actually be able to rest, just for a moment.

When the tingling started in her toes, Willow thought that her legs must be falling asleep. She shifted against Tara, straightening her legs a bit, but the tingling just grew, spreading up the soles of her feet, the palms of her hands, a burn with a weight behind it, a pressure. Willow tried to sit up, but the pressure made her limbs heavy. When it spread into her trunk her heart skipped a beat and she whimpered.

"Baby?" Tara asked, still caressing her hair. "You okay?"

Willow shook her head, struggled to breathe against the weight on her chest. "Something," she began, couldn't finish. _Something's coming,_ she sent to Tara, gripping her lover's hand. _Something's coming, you've got to keep it away from me._

"Buffy!" Tara cried, pulling Willow tight against her.

Within a second Buffy was crouched by their side again. "What's wrong, another seizure?"

Tara shook her head. "W-Willow, she said, something's coming." Her voice was shaking, tearful. The redhead began to shiver in her arms.

Buffy's hands curled into fists and she moved to stand in front of the yarrow circle, poised to fight. "Xander," she barked, "Anya. We're about to get some company, and I don't think they're bringing pizza and beer."

Xander walked up beside Buffy and gave a sour laugh. "How come nobody ever brings us nice things?"

Anya ran past them, diving behind the counter. Buffy and Xander turned when they heard a series of loud clangs and scrapes, even Tara craned her head around to see what in the world was going on. There was a moment of silence and then Anya rose up from behind the counter, holding a huge axe over her shoulder. Xander's mouth fell open.

"What?" Anya asked, bristling. "It's only in case of emergency. Or robbery. Or Jehovah's Witnesses," she said brightly after a thoughtful pause. "They really cheese me off." She sighed as the other Scoobies continued to stare. "I have a spare back here," she told Xander. "Want it?"

"Yes, please," Xander said meekly, walking up to the counter with his hands out.

Suitably armed, Xander and Anya took up position next to Buffy, tensed and ready for whatever might be coming. Tara pulled Willow closer and kissed her forehead. _Look how they love you,_ Tara sent to her. _We all love you._

Willow gripped Tara's arm, gave her a gentle squeeze. _Love you._ The pressure hit a crescendo, she could feel the dark magic inside if her pushing, testing, as if it looked for some way to escape her body and move into that force.

"Here," Willow said, gasping.

The door to the Magic Box began to vibrate, wood rattling against the hinges. Tara pulled Willow closer, and began murmuring a charm of protection that she could only hope would keep her family safe from whatever was trying to come through that door. As she called on the blessing of the goddess she kept a steady stream of energy moving into Willow, even though it left her head spinning. She would do whatever it took suppress the storm rising in her lover.

There was a hissing sound, and Tara realized that the metal fittings in the door were glowing red at the edges, peeling the paint around them as the wood began to burn. As suddenly as it had started, the vibrations stopped. The hissing began to ebb, the glow fading as the metal began to cool.

"What the fu—" Anya began.

Before she could finish her thought the deadbolt on the door was thrown back, the chain sliding, falling, rocking against the door. A tall, scarred man with dark, shoulder-length hair strolled into the shop, smiling.

_No._ Willow's thought lanced through Tara's mind, leaving an echo of bitter panic in its wake. _No. Why is he here?_

"Who is it? Who is he, Willow?" Tara whispered.

Willow rolled her head up, staring up at Tara, eyes wide with dread. When her voice echoed in Tara's mind the blonde shook with vestiges of the fear, the guilt pouring through Willow. _Rack. _Willow sobbed weakly as she sent the thought, _Dark magic dealer. I-I murdered him._

"Hey Strawberry," the warlock said. "Did you miss me?"


	6. Chapter 6

**The Wish of Three Hearts**

Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Fox, and many other powerful entities. I am just a visitor in this world—please don't sue me.

(AU post Season Seven. On Tara's birthday, three years after her death, Willow drives out to the canyon that used to be Sunnydale California to talk to her lost love. Her devotion to Tara will unlock a rite that has been lost for millennia and change her life forever. _A Willow and Tara fic._ )

_Chapter Six_

Across the street from the Magic Box, tucked into a side alley, Warren, Jonathan, and Andrew sat in a rusted-out yellow Gremlin, huddled around a small monitor.

"Hurry up," Warren said, stomping his foot. There was an ominous, metallic twang from the creaky, rotted floorboard.

"I've just gotta tweak the feed," Andrew whined, contorting himself to reach wires tangled between the dash and the television screen. "Almost—got it." He leaned back and the monitor flared into life.

Warren grabbed Andrew's shoulder and pushed him down into the backseat, next to Jonathan.

"Ow," Andrew grumbled.

"Quiet," Warren replied, leaning toward the screen.

"It's the Rack Cam," Andrew said softly, making air quotes as he said 'Rack Cam'. "Brought to you courtesy of—"

"Tucker's brother," Jonathan muttered.

"Andrew Wells," Andrew completed, ignoring the smaller man.

"Yeah, and you'll have fist brought to you courtesy of Warren Mears if I miss one thing," Warren growled.

"Shutting," Andrew squeaked.

As the picture cleared, revealing Rosenberg and her lover cowering on the floor, they head Rack's voice: "Hey Strawberry, did you miss me?"

"Showtime," Warren giggled, clapping his hands with glee.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tara was frozen, staring down at her weeping lover. Her Willow. A murderer? She moved a hand up to cup Willow's cheek. _I died, _Tara thought. _I died, and she said—_Tara thought of how Willow's voice had echoed in her mind, how it had wavered with grief as she admitted that she hurt people.

"Willow—" she began.

The air was rent by a flash of red light, an electric sizzling. Tara looked up and saw Rack chuckling, vestiges of the energy he'd just expended still dancing on his fingertips.

"Like that did you?" He asked. "Nice little barrier you're working there. It tastes sweet, earth momma, sweet as honey. Just like I thought it'd be. That's not going to keep me out forever, though."

"Then you're going to have to get past me," Buffy said, stepping toward the warlock.

"You must be the slayer," Rack said, giving a little bow in her direction. "A pleasure. Didn't expect you to be such a tiny thing."

"The pleasure of kicking your ass will be all mine," Buffy replied.

"Funny," Rack said. Before Tara could call out a warning there was a flash and Buffy, Xander, and Anya were washed in an undulating red glow. "Now you kids stay put, Daddy Rack is busy."

"Rack?" Buffy mumbled, straining to move. "Can't—" she gasped, locking a helpless gaze on Tara.

"Can't move," he agreed. "That's right little girl. You shouldn't even be able to talk. Impressive. You really are a strong one."

The warlock began circling around the yarrow barrier, hitting Tara's shield with occasional bursts of his dark, frenetic energy.

_Rack._ Tara stared at the warlock and felt something twist in her gut. She wondered if that was what it was to feel true hate. After all she'd been through, the years of abuse and torment at the hands of her own father and brother, her pain to learning that they'd lied to Tara her entire life, made her believe she was a monster, made her mother believe…She'd never felt this. Anger for the hurt and lies? Yes. Grief that those she shared flesh and blood with could be so twisted, the world so cruel? Yes. But this feeling…This was the man, the thing who'd poisoned her lover, her soul mate, with so much dark magic Willow had nearly died. Dawn had nearly died. He deserved to be wiped from the face of the earth—

"Tara," Willow's voice was breaking, her words a choked sob. "Baby—"

"It's all right," Tara soothed, stroking Willow's hair. "I promise, I won't let him hurt you."

Willow shook her head, tears falling faster. She could feel the anger building in her beautiful love like a cancer, and she had to make it stop.

"Don't let me hurt him," Willow groaned. The darkness in her shifted, pulled with each burst of Rack's power. "I don't—I don't want to be a killer again. I have to undo—" Willow gasped with pain and her eyes squeezed shut as another crackling red burst collided with the shield of protection Tara had erected. _I have to undo the wrongs I've done,_ she sent, squeezing Tara's hand. _He's not worth it, not worth your hate. He's not worth marring your beautiful soul._

Tara's lip trembled. Willow was in so much pain, she was so frightened, but her first thought was of her love, not of herself. This was her Willow. This was the girl who walked across a blacked-out campus to give her the gift of an extra-flamey candle, to give Tara the gift of her love. This was the girl who found her when she was lost. Who made her whole.

"I love you," she murmured to Willow. "I'll keep you safe. It'll be okay."

"Are you two still talkin'?" Rack laughed, sending another jarring crimson wave against the shield. "Rude, considering you have company, but I'll admit," he cried, coming to a stop. "It is impressive. Takes quite a bit of focus to maintain a barrier like this, for so long. Yep," Rack said. "You're doing a good job protecting my Strawberry." He leaned within inches of the circle, leering. "Too bad you can't protect everybody."

Rack began to wind his hands around each other, weaving threads of his energy together until a fat orb of magic dangled from his fingers, glistening like an infected wound.

"I can tell you're on the edge of something, Strawberry," Rack purred, still staring at Tara. "And I'm gonna help you take the plunge, just as soon as I get rid of the dead weight."

Tara braced herself for this new assault on her charm, focusing all her intent on keeping the warlock and his magics away from Willow. And then Rack winked at her and spun to the left, toward Buffy, Xander, and Anya. Tara's heart sunk. He wasn't coming after her. Rack was going to attack her family, still trapped, helpless in the grip of the warlock's power.

"No," Tara cried. She slid Willow to the ground and lunged forward, shifting the focus of her spell more quickly than she would've believed possible. Tara saw a blur of sky blue, of wheat-gold, and then Rack's latest attack hit, a thick and corded spider's web that began to spread, like a fungus, probing for any gap, any breach in her magics. Tara's mouth curled in a tight smile. He wouldn't find one.

"They should call you quick draw. You're right earth momma," Rack said. "It's solid. They're safe."

Tara turned her head. The warlock was watching her, smiling.

"Too bad you don't take such close care of yourself."

He pointed. Tara looked down, following the line of his finger. Her right hand was outside of the yarrow circle.

She had one thought, just one, before she felt Rack's spell slam into her like a tidal wave, lifting her spinning into the air. _Willow._

"God no!" Willow screamed, watching her soul mate fly across the room to smash into the bookcases lining the far wall. The blond crumpled to the floor and was still.

"Tara? Tara, baby," she pleaded, struggling to her hands and knees. "You've gotta get up."

"Earth momma's down for the count, Strawberry," Rack laughed. "Don't think she can hear you."

Rage was a vice, gripping Willow's chest. She felt it flowing, felt it feeding the black gibbering deep at the heart of her. It would be so easy to give into it, to reach out and choke the life out of him, to light him like a torch. And if she did, she would lose herself, maybe forever. She would lose—

"Tara," Willow repeated in a whisper. She turned away from Rack and looked at the love of her life, sprawled on the floor. Tara had put aside her anger to save Buffy, Xander, and Anya. She felt her love and gratitude for Tara's strength like a shield against the darkness. Tara was still protecting her, even now. Tara's love, the indescribable love Willow felt in return, was protecting her.

"I'm coming baby," she murmured. Willow began to crawl toward the edge of the yarrow circle.

"Will," Buffy groaned, speech slurred as she thrashed, fighting against Rack's magic. "Don't—"

_Sorry Buff,_ Willow sent, pausing on the edge of the boundary. _Gotta get my girl._

She crawled over the yarrow stalks, tensed as she waited for the painful lash of Rack's magic to hit. When it didn't, Willow began to crawl even faster, once again feeding on the agonizing friction of dark and light to fuel her movement. She was within a foot of Tara when the warlock began to applaud.

"Oh Strawberry, isn't that just about the most romantic thing I've ever seen. Takes a lot of push through a pain like that. Earth momma must really be something."

Willow ignored the grating drawl of his voice. She focused everything on Tara. If she could reach her, just touch her, Willow knew that everything would be all right.

"There's just one problem," Rack said, taking a step toward the red head. "Earth momma can't help you, she can't give you what I can." With a flick of his wrist, he enveloped Willow with his magic.

Willow shrieked, falling back to the floor as Rack's energy hit her skin, a crackling agony. He may as well have doused her in gasoline and lit her on fire. And the darkness, her darkness, was feasting on the ashes left behind, drawing ever closer to the flame that was Rack's power.

"Stop it," she sobbed, curling in on herself, a tight embryonic ball. "Please, please, you have to stop it—"

"Almost there," Rack gasped, sending another jolt into the girl.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick," Jonathan whispered.

He'd done a lot of awful things since he became part of the Trio. Things he'd never imagined in his most gruesome nightmare. But watching Willow Rosenberg's torture, hearing her screams, for the first time he actually felt like a villain. Jonathan turned to Andrew, expecting some snarky comeback or vapid reassurance. He was startled to see Andrew was pale and trembling, looking as nauseous as Jonathan felt.

"This is horrible," Andrew told Jonathan, never taking his eyes from the writhing, hysterical witch. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"I know right?" Warren sighed, turning to face them in the back seat. "Mr. Big and Powerful Mojo said this would be a breeze, but it's taking _forever._ Still," he said cheerfully, turning back to the screen, "It makes for compelling TV. Look at that," he laughed, pointing to the screen. "Harris and the slayer are crying. Hah! They know they're screwed."

Jonathan buried his face in his hands, wished he could wash the image as easily from his mind. But there was nothing he could do to silence the screams.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A part of Willow wanted to float, a part of her wanted to leave the pain and the fear, to leave the lungs burning for air while screams echoed and echoed, tinny and gasping in her own ears. And she held on to that part of herself, held it free of the darkness, separate, but most of all, awake. If suffering was what kept her human, she would cling to it like a life preserver. If she released it, if she let oblivion take her, there was no telling what would stand up wearing her skin.

Another bolt spun Willow onto her back, legs kicking in a spasm, as a fresh burst of screams was torn from her raw, aching throat. She turned her head and saw Tara, still lying in front of the bookcase. Willow reached out, arm stretching towards the blonde, only to find she was a handbreadth away from being able to touch her. Tears streamed down her face as she continued to cry out.

Rack watched his Strawberry crying and curled his lip in a derisive grin. He was throwing everything he had at her, but she was fighting it off, holding back the tremendous transformation he could sense in her. Power, she was on the brink of it, more than he could imagine. The idea that she might not want it, might reject something he'd sell his soul for—if he hadn't bartered it away many, many years before—really pissed him off.

"All right girlie," he sighed. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do things this way. But then if wishes were fishes we'd all have some trout." He laughed at his own joke and pushed his hands together. With just a few moments' twisting and channeling, Rack held another globe of slimy, fibrous magic in his hands.

"I'd say catch," He told Willow, watching her struggle and shriek. "But I don't think you're in any condition."

He threw his magics outward, corded paths of energy clinging to his fingers like a network of branching capillaries, or a nest of tangled marionette's string. Willow watched it sail towards her, tried to push up and scrabble backwards on trembling hands. It wasn't enough. Her ravaged body had only moved a few inches when the orb collided with her chest.

For a moment, just a moment, everything stopped.

Willow could breath. She could feel her connection to the earth, to the light, so small, so thin, but with a strength to it, a fortitude, tying her to her family. To Buffy and Xander, even to Anya. Tying her to Tara. She could feel her lover's heart, beating fast, sending little waves of energy, of love.

Just for a moment. And then Rack hit her again.

Willow's back arched, her head slamming into the tile so hard that sparks flared in front of her eyes. Her screaming grew to such a fevered pitch that the windows of the Magic Box began to rattle in their frames. The thread of good in her, the scrap of light, stretched, tighter and thinner. _Willow_, she thought desperately. _I'm Willow. Geeky, spastic Willow. I'm afraid of frogs. I'm afraid of myself. I am loved. My friends love me, Tara loves me. I am loved. I'm Willow._

"Come on, Strawberry," Rack growled, giving more of his power to the clinging spell. "I know you want it."

"No, no, no," she whimpered in gap between one scream and the next. She didn't want it, but the power, the thing inside her did. The monster she'd made in her own soul wanted it. The darkness lunged, bit, seized on the warlock's power.

Willow was pulled to her feet as her darkness tied itself to Rack. She wanted to cry out, to beg him to stop, to run, but all that came from her lips was a low, pained groan. Every place that his power touched her skin, the thread of his power darkened, blood red to ebony. It spread slowly, creeping inexorably toward the warlock. When he finally noticed the shift in his casting, Rack made a strange twisting gesture, trying to disengage, but the tendrils held fast. For the first time since his arrival, Willow saw fear on the warlock's face. She grieved, knowing that it was not misplaced. The darkness rejoiced, and closed the final inches toward him all the faster, touching Rack's flesh. He staggered.

"Finally getting the feel for it?" He asked, voice shaking. "That's enough for now, Strawberry. You and I, we're gonna take a little break. Time to finish off blondie."

The darkness drew, and Rack gasped, falling to his knees.

The veins in Willow's hands began to darken, to swell, bloated with magic. _No, _she thought, horrified. _Again, it's all happening again._ Her terror at the thought of repeating her devastating actions, of what it would mean for Tara, gave her voice.

"Not again!" She cried, looking heavenward. "Goddess, please!"

She felt another wave of energy rising in her, felt her tie to the earth, to herself, taught as a guitar's strings. In her mind, she saw herself killing Rack again, pulling his power till there was nothing left but a withered husk. Saw him hanging before her, a slaughtered calf, eyes staring and lifeless. Rack's eyes rolled back into his head, and then he was air born, blasted backward by a huge burst of golden-blue energy. The tendrils of his spell snapped, faded like fog. Willow fell to her knees, sobbing. As she watched, her hands smoothed, went freckled and pale, completely normal. Warm arms wrapped around her, holding her while she cried.

"I've got you, baby."

"Tara," Willow said, her voice hoarse with screaming. She shook with gratitude, with relief. She'd been stopped. "Thank you baby, thank you."

Willow let Tara lay her back on the ground. The blonde's face was bloody, a deep cut over her right eye still wept a thin line of scarlet, and a bruise was already darkening the line of her jaw. Tara was pale, trembling. Willow felt a hot flare of guilt. Tara had seen it. She knew now, without a doubt, that Willow was a killer.

"Are you all right?" Tara asked. She ran a hand down Willow's cheek, fighting to hide her fear at the sight of her lover's ebony-stained eyes.

"Your head," Willow said, reaching up.

"Nothing a few butterfly stitches won't fix," Tara replied, capturing the hand in her own and pressing it to her chest. "He hurt you." It was a statement, not a question, spoken with a low and quiet fury. "I'm going to help."

Tara gathered her magics and pushed at the darkness rising in Willow, linking herself to the weak flares of light that still endured. She could feel it fighting her, seeking to steal back every inch of amber, of evergreen, that she freed, but the light grew stronger. Willow's eyes closed and the girl shuddered. Tara tightened her grip on Willow's hand, afraid that her lover would begin to seize again. But in a heartbeat her eyes flickered open, green as grass at the height of summer, after rain.

"Tara," Willow said, looking for all the world like a confused and frightened child. "It hurts."

"I know, Will, I know," she replied, heart breaking. "I'm sorry. Just hold on. I'll make sure he can never hurt you again."

"Isn't that sweet?" Rack's voice rang through the Magic Box, bitter and gravelly.

Tara threw up a hand and a barrier sprang to life around them, almost instantaneously, but Rack was still lying flat on his back on the floor, unmoving.

"You saved me," he croaked. There was a strange, choking sound and Tara realized that the dark magic dealer was laughing, actually lying there and laughing. "Keep it up, earth momma, mercy, the good girl's way." He squirmed, managed to prop himself up on his elbows, head lolling. "It'll make it all the sweeter when I end you."

"No," Willow growled.

Tara could feel Willow's rage. It fed the darkness, eclipsing her light. Her love's pupils began to widen as she struggled to her feet. Tara tried and failed to hold her down.

"Willow don't—" Tara began, but the redhead didn't answer.

Tara reached out and severed the vestiges of Rack's weakened charm on their friends. Xander and Anya collapsed to the floor, unconscious, but Buffy was on her feet, swaying.

"I need you," Tara told the slayer. Buffy nodding, moving to her side. The little slayer took one look at her best friend and dipped behind her, throwing her arms around Willow, pinning the witch's arms to her sides.

"No," Willow moaned, thrashing weakly. "Buffy, let me go. I can't let him hurt her again."

"It's all right," Tara said softly. She reached out to stroke Willow's soft red hair. Blue eyes met green. "It's all right, and I love you. I'll always love you. The past, that other life, doesn't matter. I love you." Tara turned her gaze to Buffy. "Whatever happens, don't let her go."

"Got it."

Tara leaned in and kissed Willow gently, sending her thoughts of love and comfort, and then she turned away, walking calmly to where Rack still laid on the floor, chuckling and gasping.

"That looks like it smarts," Rack said, nodding toward the gash on Tara's forehead. "At least you don't have to worry about a scar. Undertaker'll cover that up with bit of make-up. You'll be good as new. Dead, but good as new."

"You're not going to hurt me," Tara replied. Her voice was low, serene. "And you're never going to touch Willow again."

Rack laughed. He tried to sit up and failed, falling backwards onto the floor when his arms gave out.

"You really think she doesn't know, don't you?" Tara's voice was ripe with disbelief.

"I think you've got a bit of a concussion there, momma," Rack said. "Wanna give that to me again?"

"The earth," Tara replied. "You think she doesn't feel every bit of magic you've begged, borrowed, or stolen? Every bit you've torn and twisted to control others with the gift?"

"I'm a warlock," Rack cried, rolling his eyes. He pushed back up to his elbows again, smirking up at Tara. "I create magic, I _am_ magic. I'm not bound to a tangible source. I'll leave that little bit of weakness to goddess-lovers like you."

"We are born from the earth and we return to it," Tara intoned solemnly. "Even if you don't feel it tying you to the source, she feels you."

"You wanna feel something earth momma? Try this."

Rack threw up a hand, sending a burst of crackling red magic at Tara's face. Willow cried out, nearly breaking free of Buffy's grasp, but the slayer planted her feet and pulled the slender witch closer. Tara waived her hand and Rack's spell recoiled from a wall of sapphire and gold surrounding Tara, fading as quickly as it manifested.

"I told you," Tara replied. "Never again."

As she chanted under her breath, Tara wove her hands through the air, capturing strands fine as gossamer, glinting sapphire and gold. The shield around her flickered into translucent life, bound by the strands to her fingertips. It was beautiful, a shining photo negative of Rack's darkness. Slowly, reverently, Tara raised her hands to her lips, palm up, like a child preparing to blow a kiss. When her breath moved across her hands, the shield shimmered, shifted, moving to envelop the warlock. As soon as the shield surrounded him it contracted, brightened, and Rack began to thrash.

"Begin," Tara whispered, but her voice echoed through the Magic Box, pealing like a bell, ringing bright and beautiful.

The energy around Rack burned, pulsing with light to a wash of buttercup and cornflower. Rack stiffened, head flailing left and right. There was another pulse, and the magics darkened to wheat, to the same denim blue as Tara's own eyes. The warlock began to kick, throwing his arms around wildly. His mouth opened and closed again and again, like a fish dying in the air, but he didn't make a sound. A third pulse left the cocoon around the dark magic dealer a rich, deep indigo with swirls of gold. The energy coated Tara's fingers, spread up her arms, and then Tara's eyes closed. The glow moved her to her chest and Tara was lifted up off the floor, levitating peacefully over the struggling warlock.

Though her hair was haloed in her powerful energies, stained blue and bronze, for a moment Willow could've sworn her lover's hair shone white as snow. She felt Buffy's arms drop, heard the slayer utter an oath under her breath. Willow didn't move, couldn't move.

There was a hum in the air, dancing on the edge between something that was heard and something felt. As it grew, stronger and louder, Rack's struggling began to slow. When the warlock was perfectly still, Tara settled gently back to the floor.

"It ends," she murmured. The energy around her burnt blindingly bright, and then vanished.

Willow took a step toward Tara and staggered. She felt Buffy's hand grip her arm and started to pull away, but then Buffy hooked her free hand under Willow's chin and forced her friend to look at her.

"I just want to help you, Will," she said softly. "Let me help you."

Willow stared at her for a moment and then nodded, felt Buffy's arm shift down around her waist, holding her up as they moved slowly toward Tara. When Willow reached her lover's side the blonde still hadn't moved. She stood there, staring down at Rack's motionless body.

"Tara?" Willow asked hesitantly. "Baby?"

Tara turned toward Willow and Buffy, smiling. The slayer was still a bit pale, but standing steady now. And Willow, Willow was shaking, those beautiful green eyes shadowed with fear.

"Oh darling," Tara murmured. She pulled Willow into her arms. "He's not dead, he's just unconscious." She felt Willow relax against her, heard her sniffle.

Buffy tensed and started to move toward Rack. Tar reached past Willow's shoulder with one hand, grabbing the furious slayer.

"He's harmless," Tara said. Buffy's face warred between anger and confusion. "Buffy," she said insistently. "He's harmless."

"Baby?" Willow asked, leaning back to catch Tara's eye.

"He'll never use magic again," she replied.

Willow's mouth fell open, then she closed it again. She was stunned by the idea of the incomprehensible power Tara's feat would've required.

"How?" Buffy asked, walking around the prone warlock, probing at him carefully with her foot. "How did you do it, Tara?"

"I didn't," she said simply.

Buffy's brow furrowed and Willow bit her lip. Tara laid her cheek against Willow's, continuing in a whisper that she knew the slayer would be able to hear as clearly as if she'd shouted.

"I was the earth's vessel," she said simply. "The goddess took back what was hers, and closed every door to power that Rack ever opened." She paused, turning her head and pressing a gentle kiss to Willow's cheek. "He can't ever hurt you again," Willow."

Willow's shaking became more pronounced. She wept openly, pulling Tara tightly against her. Tara was safe, and Rack lived. She hadn't repeated her terrible actions from that night so many years ago. Her relief, her gratitude, was a tangible presence in the room.

While the witches embraced one another, Buffy kneeled down next to Rack, a cold smile on her face.

"You better get out of town, magic man," she said, voice soft, with a hint of mirth. "When word gets out that ole Rack has lost his powers, folks are gonna come pouring out of the woodwork. Folks that don't like you. How many enemies have you made over the years?"

The warlock's eyes opened and he glared at the slayer, his face twisted with impotent rage.

"You know," she told him, still smiling, "Normal humans don't have the highest survival rate in Sunnydale."

Without another word, Buffy grabbed Rack's collar and dragged him across the room. The slayer threw open the door and Willow and Tara watched her pull him across the parking lot, dumping him in unceremoniously in the middle of the street. She walked back into the Magic Box, dusting her hands off with a huge grin on her face. When Buffy closed the door and locked it, she did it with such force that the bell over it rang wildly. Xander groaned and sat up, clutching his head.

"Please tell me that I missed something really good," he said. "And not something bad. If it's bad, please, just knock me out again."

"A bit of both," Buffy replied, watching Tara lead a still-shaking Willow back into the safety of the yarrow circle. "But we've ended on a high note. Tara kicked some serious warlock butt."

"Go Tara!" Anya cried weakly, thrusting her arm up in the air from where she lay on the floor, still flat on her back.

"I second that hooray," Xander said, throwing himself back onto the floor, arms stretched over his head.

"Thirded," Buffy said. "I need another granola bar. Being frozen and really ticked off makes me hungry."

Tara smiled at the banter between her friends. Their resilience was a balm, easing the tension she still felt coursing through her, vestige of the adrenaline rush she could only imagine had been working quadruple-time in the past few hours.

"Let's sit," she told Willow, helping her lover settle to the ground. Tara took Willow's hands in her own and settled down across from her lover.

As soon as Willow looked up into Tara's eyes her brow crinkled. "You're bleeding."

"It's all right," Tara said, raising a hand to the cut on her head. She smiled, trying to reassure her nervous love. "It's not as bad as it looks, head wounds always—"

"No," Willow said urgently. "Your nose, it's bleeding."

Tara touched her face, and when she pulled her hand back, her fingertips were coated in a rich, dark crimson. She winced as a pain crawled across her scalp, and Willow's grip on her hand tightened.

"I'm okay," Tara said. "Really, I think I just overdid it a bit." Willow's eyes were still wide, fearful. "Willow," she said earnestly, giving the redhead's hands a little squeeze. "I'm going to be fine. As long as you're with me, I'm fine."

Willows grip relaxed and she smiled faintly, but then the smile faded. Tara heard her lover's voice in her head, tentative, soft as a whisper. _Even though you saw_—

Tara pressed her lips to Willow's, stilling the girl's busy mind. "Love you. The past doesn't matter," she reassured her again. Would keep reassuring Willow no matter how long it took to sink in. "I love you."

"Tare," Willow choked, "Love you."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, foreheads pressed together, just reveling in the presence of the person who completed them.

"Promise me something?" Willow asked.

"Anything."

"No more teleportation spells for me means no more neutralizing incredibly powerful dark warlocks for you, okay?"

"Deal," Tara murmured, and pulled Willow back for another kiss.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"This just in from the 'Rack Cam'," Andrew quipped, watching the pristine view they now had of the street light outside the Magic Box. "Rack has had his ass handed to him."

There was a hysterical quiver in the blond boy's voice. Jonathan tensed, waiting for Warren's inevitable outburst, but their self-proclaimed leader never made a sound. Minutes of silence—slow and uncomfortable silence—ticked by, punctuated by the occasional grumbled curse from the conquered warlock.

"Warren?" Andrew asked finally.

Jonathan shook his head, mouthing at Andrew to shut up, but Andrew just shrugged sullenly.

"Warren," Andrew repeated. "What are we going to do now?"

Warren shook his head slowly. When he turned to face them, Jonathan was shocked to see that Warren was smiling.

"There's been a change in plans," he said. Warren's voice was soft, relaxed. He looked happy. Jonathan had the realization that he had never been so disturbed by another person's joy.

"What do you mean a change in plans?" He asked.

Warren turned back to the screen a fiddled with a few buttons, rewinding the recording they'd made of the 'Rack Cam' feed. After a few seconds he punched a button, leaving an image frozen on the monitor.

"You know me boys," Warren said, his voice husky. A small smile curved his lips as he leered at the screen. "I hate to let a good thing go to waste."

The image Warren was watching so intently was Tara, haloed in sapphire and gold, resplendent, hovering above the floor of the Magic Box.


	7. Chapter 7

(Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters belong to Joss and all those other folks who, *bummer* aren't me. No need to sue, just read and enjoy!)

_Chapter Seven_

For a moment the car was quiet, the mild hum of the recording equipment just on the edge of hearing, shifting between being heard and unheard. Then Andrew leaned forward, his face crumpled.

"What are you talking about, Warren?" Andrew's voice was a shrill echo, bouncing around in the tiny cab of the Gremlin.

Even watching him in profile, Jonathan could see the brief flash of annoyance that crossed Warren's face, but as the man refocused on the image of the floating blonde, the creepy smile slipped back into place.

"It's very simple, Andrew. Killing Tara would be a waste." His voice was calm, but with a flat edge to it. Jonathan prayed silently that Andrew would rein it the hell in.

"Then what are we going to do with her?" Andrew murmured, flushed.

Warren turned toward them and hooked a thumb toward the screen. "What are we going to do? We're going to take her, numb-nut. We'll make sure that she uses her magic for us, and only us. If she can take down Rack, the slayer will be a breeze."

"What about W-about Rosenberg?" Jonathan asked quietly, still trying to get the memory of the little redhead's screams out of his head. "She's not just going to let us take her girlfriend."

Any hope Jonathan had of scaring Warren disappeared as the man began to cackle. "You saw her, she's just a burnt out junkie." Warren snorted with laughter, shaking his head. "What's the worst she could do?"

"But—" Jonathan and Andrew said simultaneously. The boys threw one-another a look, but Warren just laughed again.

"No buts, my boys. We're up." Warren opened his door and slid out of the car without a backward glance.

Andrew turned a doe-eyed gaze on Jonathan. "I don't understand," the blond boy said. "Warren told us that we had to kill one of them. That's why we brought Rack here. To kill one of them because they're too powerful together, because once one of them is dead we can kill the slayer."

Jonathan couldn't help but laugh at the pained expression on Andrew's face. "You realize you're talking about killing someone and all you're worried about is who Warren wants to bring along for the ride?"

"She's our nemesis," Andrew muttered. "We're not supposed to feel pity for our nemesis."

Jonathan laughed all the harder. "Do you really not get it?" Andrew just shook his head, lip quivering. "What isn't there to understand? Warren wants her, Andrew. The cataclysmic power? That's just a perk."

He leaned forward until their faces were just inches apart. Part of him desperately wanted to pummel some sense into Andrew, but how could he? He was just going along for the ride as well.

Jonathan shook his head and gave a sour laugh. "He wants her. And unless you want to break rank with your precious leader, you're going to help him get her."

Andrew threw open his door and stepped out of the car. As soon as he was free of the frame he slammed the door, hard. He was breathing so harshly so fast, that Jonathan could hear it, even from the other side of the car. After a moment the boy stuck his head back into the car.

"You're wrong you know," Andrew said firmly. "Warren has a plan to get rid of the slayer. She's just a part of the plan." He disappeared again, stalking off after Warren.

"I wish I was wrong," Jonathan muttered, staring at the image of Tara on the television screen. He thought about getting out of the car and running across the street to the Magic Box, of warning the Scoobies. After a moment he shook his head. "And I wish I weren't such a damned coward."

Jonathan sat with his head in his hands for a moment, and then went off to join his fellow villains.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Willow was on the edge of sleep. The warmth Tara's embrace, her lover's gentle rocking, left Willow feeling like she was caught on the tide of a sun-warmed sea. Tara's energy moved through her in the rhythm of the rocking, so that the water held her, lived in her, pushing back the darkness.

"Let go, baby." Tara's voice was soft, rich with love. "You can rest, I've got you."

"I want to watch you," Willow whispered. Tara was smiling down at her, golden hair hanging to frame both their faces. For that moment, they were alone—they were safe. "I never want to take my eyes off you."

"All right," Tara replied. She leaned over and pressed her lips to Willow's forehead, her corn-silk hair brushing the redhead's cheeks. "All right my stubborn girl. You watch me, and I'll watch you, and maybe we'll both fall asleep."

Willow closed her eyes as Tara kissed her again, moving from her forehead, to the tip of her nose, finally pressing her warms lips to Willow's mouth. She let herself sink into Tara's kiss, taking the blonde's lower lip into her mouth gently, releasing it to kiss the top tenderly.

"Every bit of you," Willow murmured against Tara's mouth. "I love every little bit of you."

"And I love every atom of you, Willow, every quark and lepton." Tara punctuated her statement with another tender kiss.

Willow smiled, felt her eyes well. "I love it when you talk science-y to me."

"Anything to get a smile outta my girl," Tara replied. She stayed curled against Willow, leaving their foreheads pressed together.

"Does your head still hurt?" Willow asked, even as her eyes fluttered closed, and then open again, voice going thick as she fought sleep. _Beautiful_, she thought, looking up into Tara's eyes. _Like the sky on the first day of autumn—so clear, and so bright…_

"Just a little," Tara told her. "It's getting much better."

Willow reached up to touch Tara's check. "Promise?" She asked. "It-it doesn't hurt?" Her voice was high, tentative.

Tara's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Helping me," Willow said, laying a hand against Tara's chest, above her heart. "It isn't, it isn't hurting you?"

"No," Tara kissed Willow again. "No, it doesn't hurt. I promise. You just rest, Will, rest and let me help you."

"I'm busy enjoying the view, remember?" Willow asked.

"Silly girl," Tara sighed, smiling.

Willow kissed Tara again, slowly, sweetly, reveling in the warmth, in the presence of the woman she loved so much. She could feel that same devotion in Tara, each embrace a silent vow that they would be together, protect and support one another, always.

"Love you, Tara." Willow said, stroking along the edge of her lover's collarbone. "I love you."

"I love you too." Tara replied solemnly. "And thank you. Thank you for loving me, for being the woman that you are, so I could finally know what true love is."

"I wish we could just stay like this, forever."

"I know," Tara sighed. "But I think the gang would miss us." Her smile broadened. "Besides, I think Anya's going to want her floor back eventually."

"We should talk to them," Willow said, trying to sit up. "You're right, we can't just stay here. We need a plan—"

Tara reached out with a gentle hand and pressed her backward, into the surety of her arms. "The only thing you need to do is rest. Buffy's got it." Willow opened her mouth and Tara shook her head. "She's the slayer, she'll figure out what we should do."

Willow bit her lip, then nodded. She would put her trust in them, in her family. Experience had shown her time and time again how much stronger they were together than apart.

Across the shop, Buffy was sitting next to Anya, fidgeting. Her legs were jumping like pistons, the fingers of her right hand tapping on the desk while she chewed on the cuticle of her left thumb. She saw Anya shoot a glance at her once or twice, and then finally the ex-demon laid down the book she was reading and gently pulled Buffy's hand away from her mouth.

"Self-cannibalism isn't going to help us in this scenario," Anya said gently.

Buffy tipped her head, brow furrowed. "I just wish that I knew what to do." She shifted her gaze to Willow and Tara, a tiny smile curving her lips at the sight of their tight embrace, at the sweet words they murmured to one another. "We have to help her."

"Xander will be back and he will bring good word with him," Anya said firmly, giving Buffy's hand an awkward pat. "Giles will know what we should do."

"I hope your right." Buffy stilled for a moment but then her legs jerked into life again. "That still doesn't explain Rack. Why did big, tall and scarred come here? Willow kicked her habit over a month ago."

Anya shrugged, but there was a funny look on the ex-demon's face, it wasn't guilt, or fear, but there was this tightness around her mouth, her eyes. Buffy realized that, for once, the woman was trying to hold back.

"You think it's bad, don't you?" Buffy murmured, she didn't want her voice to carry to the resting witches. "Do you think Willow lied to Tara? Is she using again?"

"No," Anya said. The stern admonishment in her voice surprised the slayer. "No I don't think that at all. And you don't either."

"I know I don't," Buffy replied, bowing her head. "I just don't know what to do, or why any of this is happening."

"It's happening because of that Ter Sis Animi thing," Anya said. "Whatever that is. But I will tell you one thing," she continued kindly. "I think Rack came because he could feel the change in Willow's magic. I think he could feel the darkness in her. If I'm right, then that means…" Anya trailed off, watching Willow and Tara.

"What does that mean?" Buffy asked, grabbing Anya's arm. "Anya, what does it mean?"

Anya turned her head to look Buffy in the eye. "It means that she'll probably keep drawing…things. We have to be prepared."

Buffy could imagine all too well what kind of thing would be drawn to the dark forces moving through her best friend. "What should we prepare for?" She asked Anya in a tiny voice.

"Anything," the ex-demon replied. "And since that's technically impossible, we should be prepared to move."

"Move?"

Anya nodded. "Yes, and to keep moving. The longer we stay in one place the more likely we are to draw some big nasty." She exhaled sharply. "I don't know about you, but I've had about enough of the big nasties for one day."

"Amen sister." Buffy put her elbows on the table and leaned forward so her chin was propped on her fists. "Amen."

Anya went back to pouring through texts, pages blurring as she looked for any reference to the rite that had apparently broken Willow even as it allowed her to save Tara's life. Buffy didn't move, just watched her friends in the yarrow circle, hoping that they could have a moment's peace, a moment's rest. The tap, tap, tap of her right foot against the tiled floor was the only sign of the nerves raging in her. After a few minutes Xander walked out of the hallway that led to the practice room, squeezing between displaced pieces of furniture. As soon as she saw him, Buffy sat up, giving Anya a gentle tap to get her attention. When Anya looked at her Buffy raised her chin toward Xander.

"So?" Anya asked as the dark-haired man took a seat.

Xander shook his head and Buffy groaned. "I tried calling every number Giles left for us," he said softly. "I didn't get him at home, so I tried a few local bookshops, even that pub he said we'd never reach him at unless it was Guy Fawkes Day."

"What about that coven," Buffy asked. "The one in Scotland with all those old lady witches he likes to hang with?"

Xander sighed. "I didn't get any answer there, and they don't have an answering machine. So I did the only thing I could, I called Giles at home again and left him a message."

"You didn't—" Buffy began.

"No details, Buff," Xander interrupted, nodding. "I know we can't chance the council finding out that our level five witches just leveled up a hundred-fold."

Anya snorted, rolling her eyes.

"What?" Xander asked, bristling.

"If their power had only increased to that degree, things would be so much simpler," she replied, sounding sad as she repeated, "So much simpler."

"I know that you're a thousand year old ex-demon," he said bitterly, "But that doesn't make you an expert on every situation. "If we can figure out what happened we can undo it. We can fix it." He turned to the slayer and forced a smile on his face. "Right Buffy?"

Buffy was staring at Anya. The bottle blonde was so solemn; she had spoken with such certainty, that Buffy felt fear twist her stomach. It was like being back in that hospital waiting room, when her mother…Buffy shook her head.

"Right, Buff?" Xander repeated.

"Right," Buffy said firmly. She wasn't going to loose any more of her family. "We'll get this figured out. We just have to wait to hear from Giles."

"Didn't you hear me?" Anya hissed, snapping her book closed. "We need to move, and keep moving."

"And we will," Buffy replied. "As soon as we talk to Giles. If we keep moving around, we won't have any way for him to reach us. We can't take that chance."

Anya opened her mouth to argue just as the door of the magic box exploded into splinters.

"Shit," Anya muttered, rising to her feet. "I wish people would stop breaking into my store!"

Buffy and Xander leapt a moment later, as Willow and Tara cried out in fear and surprise. There was something, something big, moving in the haze of sawdust left behind by the pulverized door. Anya and Xander held up their axes and Buffy slipped a stake out of her belt.

"It'll be all right," Tara told the trembling Willow. She held up her hand and called the chant to create a field and bar the doorway, but as Tara felt the power gather pain lanced across her skull, left her gasping.

"Tara?" Willow asked, sitting up and taking the blonde's face in her hands. "Baby, are you okay?"

"I can't," Tara said. When she looked up at Willow blood was trickling from her nose again. "I can't keep it out."

"It's all right," Willow soothed, even as she felt her guts tighten with fear. _Help us, Buffy, _she thought desperately. _Keep Tara safe, because I can't_—

The doorjamb groaned and creaked as two huge hands grabbed either side of the doorway and pushed. The hands were six-fingered, gnarled, with fingers that looked more like the branches of a withered tree than flesh and bone, ending in wicked three-inch talons. The skin on those hands was a dark grayish-brown, grooved and mottled like thick bark.

"I don't know what you are," Buffy said, stepping closer to the doorway. "But you should know I've had a really crappy day. The next butt that comes through that door is going to get soundly kicked."

The monstrous hands tightened on the woodwork, talons digging in and leaving grooves.

"Hey!" Anya stormed. "Enough with the structural damage."

"Ahn, I think a little wood replacement is the least of our worries," Xander squeaked as the creature moved into the shop.

The hands burst free of the wood, and long, thin arms snaked into the shop, a branching foot, each toe tipped with a yellowing claw. Buffy danced out of range of the long arms, her mouth falling open as she watched the huge beast contort, folding itself through the doorway.

"Ah crap," Buffy muttered.

The demon was so huge it couldn't even stand up straight inside the confines of the Magic Box. It towered over her, back and shoulders curved against the ceiling. The thing's head was a rough, spiked ball on top of its long, gangly body. Where it should've had eyes, a mouth, there were just dips that looked like burnt out holes. Still, it must've had smell, or sight, as it locked those charred hollows on Buffy and roared, a deep, low rumbling that rang with such force the slayer staggered back a step.

"Now I know what those chumps in Jurassic Park felt like when the T-Rex hollered at them," Buffy quipped. "And man, does your breath stink." The monster took a quick swipe at her and the slayer dodged, stabbing at its arm with her stake. The point snapped off, lodged in the creature's skin. "Any clues as to what this thing is?"

"Araucaria demon," Anya said. "Very tough, very short-tempered."

"Yeah I noticed that," Buffy said wryly. "Any clue how I kill it?"

"Carefully," Anya shouted.

Buffy sidestepped another swipe from the demon and launched herself into the air, delivering a donkey kick to the thing's ribs. The slayer felt like she'd propelled herself against a granite wall. The beast staggered, but didn't move a step, but Buffy was knocked onto her back.

"Any other advice?" She called.

"Don't die," Anya replied.

"Doing my best," Buffy muttered. She hopped back onto her feet. When the demon moved toward her again, Buffy dived into a tucked roll, burst back to her feet and lancing out, kicking at the back of its knee in a sweep.

The demon didn't budge.

Buffy spilled to the floor, gasping as the air was knocked out of her. The demon lifted its foot and pinned Buffy's leg to the ground. The slayer cried out, teeth clenched as the bones of her ankle were ground together.

"I'm comin', Buffy," Xander yelled, running toward the demon with his axe raised over his head.

"Xander, don't—" Anya cried, just as her ex-fiancé brought the axe down on the thing's wrist, lopping off its hand.

The demon shrieked, kicking the slayer away. Buffy rolled toward Tara and Willow, trying to slow her tumbling, but she smashed right into the protective barrier, sending yarrow branches scattering in all directions.

"Sorry," Buffy groaned to the startled witches.

"Buffy," Willow said.

"Are you oh-okay?" Tara asked.

"I'll be fine," Buffy replied. "But you two need to get out of the line of fire." She struggled to her feet, dusting her hands off on the back of her pants. "Grab a corner, okay?" She pointed to the far side of the shop.

"We can help," Willow began.

"Y-yes, we can," Tara agreed. She squeezed Willow's hand gently. "Right now we can help by giving her two less people to worry about."

Willow's lip started to curl into the beginnings of 'resolve face', but then she felt her frustration running like a ribbon down her chest, to the darkness curled in her belly. She sighed.

"You're right, baby."

As Buffy helped the witches to their feet, Xander was left staring at the demon. Thick white blood, like half-melted vanilla frosting, was pouring from the stump. Xander backed away and found a trail of the white goo still clinging to the axe, connecting him back to the demon's wounded arm. He yanked at the weapon but the blood just moved and stretched, he couldn't break free.

"Just drop it, Xander," Anya said, running up next to him. "Whatever you do don't touch the—"

The demon gave a tremendous yank and the blood connecting Xander's axe to the truncated arm contracted like a rubber band, yanking the man forward. The axe slipped from Xander's grip but he couldn't stop his forward momentum. He scrambled to stop himself from falling and reached out, his left hand closing around the demon's stump.

"The blood," Anya groaned.

Xander's hand was instantaneously coated in skin of the sticky, thick white fluid. He stepped backward, but a trail of blood still connected him to the beast. The demon raised its uninjured arm and Xander watched as talons came streaking toward his face. Before he could close his eyes and wait for the end, a slim, tanned arm shot past his face, reaching up to grip the demon's wrist.

"Get out of here, Xander," Buffy murmured as the monster roared again.

Tara and Willow made there way toward the corner of the shop, holding each other up, both women feeling weak and unsteady on their feet. When they were as far from danger as they could be inside the shop, Tara helped Willow to the ground, dropping to her knees and pulling the redhead back into her arms.

Buffy pushed a hand against Xander's chest and send him spinning back toward the research area. The quick movement broke the strand of demon blood, but his hand was still coated. Before he could reach out with his clean hand to wipe the stuff off, Anya grabbed his wrist.

"Don't touch it," she told him sternly. "And don't let it touch anything."

"What?" Xander asked. "Why? Ahn, it's demon blood, it's gross."

"Araucaria demons are called sap-blood demons, Xander," Anya said, her voice rough with anger and fear. "The resin sticks to anything that touches it. So if you want your hands stuck together while the big angry demon is running around, then fine, touch it. If you want to live, I wouldn't recommend it."

"No touchy," Xander said, holding his tainted hand up into the air. "Got it." Anya's widened as she gazed over his shoulder. "What?" He asked, and turned to see Buffy scooping up his fallen axe and moving back toward the monster. "Buff, don't get the blood on you," he called desperately, holding out his hand. "It's a trap!"

Buffy's eyes darted to the strange substance coating Xander's hand and she nodded, circling around the demon as it thrashed at her. She ducked and dodged around the attacks, reading the demon for any sign of fatigue or weakness. In an instant her experience and slayer instincts gave her the answer. Buffy rolled away from a vicious kick and slammed the axe into the floor, one half of the double-headed blade standing up from the tile.

"I'll fix that," Buffy called, hearing an indignant shout from Anya.

Xander felt a strange tingling on his hand. The demon's blood spread, expanded, until his hand and wrist were enclosed in a milky-peach ovoid sphere of resin.

"Uh, Anya?" He asked hesitantly.

"This is bad," Anya groaned.

"Over here spine-head," Buffy called, waving her arms at the demon. It roared again, lunging toward her.

As soon as it took a step forward, Buffy dashed between the demon's legs, moving behind it. She leapt up onto the demon's back and kicked off against the wall, forcing the thing forward. It reared back up, shaking as it tried to knock her off its back. Buffy curled her legs up and kicked off the wall again. This time the demon tumbled forward. It's head landed on the axe with a sickening thud.

"No blood on me!" The slayer crowed happily, standing on top of the dead demon with her feet spread and her arms thrown up in the air.

"Move!" Anya shouted.

Buffy looked down and saw the demon's head and neck had begun to swell. Before she could move, it exploded.

"Buffy!" Willow screamed, trying to stand.

Tara pulled her backward as thick white blood spattered in every direction. "I'll help her," she murmured to her lover. "But promise me, Willow, you'll stay right here, stay safe." She raised her hand to cup Willow's cheek. "And no magic baby, you can't. The darkness—" Tara paused.

"It's getting harder to hold back," Willow whispered, eyes shining with tears. "I know. I'm just…I'm just so scared baby." _I'm feeding it_, Willow thought to herself despairingly.

"I'm scared too," Tara said, kissing her quickly. "I'm gonna help Buffy, okay?"

"Kay," Willow said.

The blonde straightened and walked toward the crumbled grey chunks and bulbous, swelling puddles of blood that were all that marked the spot where the demon had died.

"Buffy?" Tara called softly, taking careful steps to avoid the sticky patches on the tile. There was no sign of the little blonde slayer. _Goddess please_, Tara thought. _Please don't take her from us again._

"Tara, do you see her?" Xander called.

"No," Tara replied, shaking her head. "I could use a hand."

"We love to help you, Tara," Xander started.

"But we're stuck," Anya finished, fuming.

Tara looked over and saw that the sphere of resin on Xander's arm had grown to the size of a watermelon, wrapped halfway up his forearm. The weight of had pulled him over, leaving his hand stuck against the tile. And blood spattered from the exploding demon had hit Anya's foot, leaving her covered in goo up to her ankle.

"I'll h-help you," Tara said. "Just let me find Buffy."

As she spoke, there was a long whimper above her head. Tara looked up and a smile flared on her face. "Buffy!" She cried happily. "Are you okay?"

"I've had some sucky days," Buffy moaned, hanging from the ceiling, body coated in the viscous demon blood. "But this one is sucking pretty hard on the overall Buffy suck scale."

"We need to get you d-down," Tara replied. "Does Giles have a ladder?" When the slayer shook her head, Tara nodded. "It's okay. I'll find something."

"I'm afraid that's going to take more time than you've got."

Tara spun around. Warren Mears was standing in the doorway, smiling at her. He took a step into the Magic Box and she stepped back away from him. The man was holding a huge silver object, like a gun mixed with a rocket launcher, perched on his shoulder.

When the doorway was clear, Jonathan and Andrew walked out of the dark, struggling for a moment as they each tried to get over the threshold into the shop at the same time. Tara held up her hands, calling on her magic even as needles of pain stabbed into the back of her neck, and across her lower jaw. As her hands began to glow she felt a strange trickling down the sides of her neck, and wondered if she was bleeding from the ears.

"Tara!" Willow's voice was strident, panicked.

_Stay right there, love,_ Tara sent, never taking her eyes off Mears. _Remember, you promised._

_But—_Willow began.

_Please baby._

Mears was still staring at her, a broad grin spread across his face. He looked so average, so, so harmless. But this was the man, the doughy little man, who'd robbed and maimed. _And murdered_, Tara thought. _If it weren't for Willow, this man would've killed me today._ The man that'd tried to kill Buffy.

"I won't let you hurt Buffy again," Tara said solemnly, holding out her hands toward the man that'd been her killer in another life. She forced herself to stand up straight, even though she could feel her arms and legs trembling with the effort.

Warren laughed. "Still feeling a little worn out from the big fight? Don't worry, the situation with Buffy's already taken care of." He waved his free hand toward the ceiling. "We've just got to make sure that it says taken care of. Jonathan?"

The smallest member of the geek trio stepped up, staring at the floor. Before Tara had time to move, he held up his hand and murmured a curse:

"Rutilus, duco nocens." _Red-haired woman, draw the darkness as a magnet._

Tara's eyes widened and she cried out, turning toward her lover, toward her Willow. She called forth her shield and watched it flare into life around Willow in a blur of blue and honey, but as she gasped at a fresh burst of pain, the shield flickered and died. _Willow_, she sent, trying to hold back her fear, her despair. _Get out, you have to get out of here, baby._

"Tara?" Willow asked, struggling to her feet.

Tara never got a chance to explain. The books on the shelves of the Magic Box's second story began to rattle and shift. As Willow watched, a slim volume slid off the shelf and hung in the air spine-up, the fluttering pages reminding her, strangely, of the hummingbird that she'd seen that morning, in another life. _Was that really today?_ Willow thought. _Is it possible?_ The book lanced through the air toward her face. She held up her hands to knock it aside, and instead felt the pages close against her fingers.

"What's happening?" Buffy called down to Tara. "Don't you hurt them, Mears," she growled, thrashing against her bonds.

"This is bad," Anya said, watching Xander straining against the weight of the resin blood encasing his hand. "The shop's getting totally wrecked."

"Ahn!" Xander shouted.

"Of course I'm more worried our friends, Xander," Anya said venomously. "But there's enough room in my heart to worry about the shop too!"

The front counter began to rattle as the items Anya tossed there began to move and shift. Willow waved her hands, trying to shake the book free, but the paper was clinging to her skin.

The darkness in her rose to meet it.

Willow dropped to her knees, screaming, as text began to flow up her hands. She felt her tie to Tara weakened, felt like she was drowning in her own body as the darkness fed. Willow heard her lover cry out, but she couldn't move. Another text came flying across the room and grazed her temple, sending her flat on her back. She heard the scrap, the rustle, of the book sliding back across the floor, as it brushed her cheek Willow shrieked.

"Willow!" Tara screamed as she watched the dark magic text lock on to her lover's hands. She moved to run toward Willow and felt an arm wrap around her waist, pulling her backward.

"Where are you going?" A voice whispered in her ear. Mears. "You stay right here with me." He laughed, and Tara almost gagged at the sour tang of his breath. "We're going to have loads of fun."

"Let me go," Tara fumed, stomping down on the man's foot. She watched, horrified, as a second book flew across the shop and knocked Willow to the ground, drawn back to settle against her cheek. Her lover was screaming and screaming.

"None of that," Warren snarled, taking the gun down off his shoulder.

Tara froze, afraid he was going to fire on Willow, that there would be nothing she could do to help her soul mate. But when Warren dropped the gun, he let it swing down until the muzzle pointed at the ground. Eight slim silver legs slid out of the barrel, spreading into supports like the tripod for a camera. Once the legs were spread Warren took his hand away, leaving the cylinder freestanding, a strange and insectile metallic thing. Mears began to push buttons on the top of the cylinder and Jonathan and Andrew drew closer. Tara began her struggles anew.

"Let her go, Mears!" Buffy screamed. "I owed you an ass kicking for trying to kill me, but if you hurt my family, I swear to god you get instant honorary vamp status. I will stake your ass!"

A strange purple glow began to emanate from the cylinder, sparks rising and flickering around Tara and the geek Trio.

"I said let go of me!" Tara screamed. She elbowed Warren in the ribs with all her strength. She had to get away from him. She had to get to Willow. Ever second more books were flying from the shelves; Tara could barely even see her love beneath the pile of texts. Far more horrifying was the fact that she couldn't feel her, couldn't touch Willow with her mind or her magic at all.

"And I said none of that," Warren snarled. He brought up a fist and clubbed the blonde as hard as he could on the side of the head. When the blonde slumped back against him a cruel smile twisted his mouth. She'd learn.

The purple field around them deepened. A hum began to rise from the strange machine, warring with the screams and shouts of the Scoobies as the struggled fruitlessly against the resinous blood of the demon. Tara heard it all as she leaned against Warren, playing possum, just waiting for her chance to break free. His blow had hurt, without a doubt, but Warren Mears had a long way to go before he could hold a candle to Donald and Donnie Maclay. The hum raised in pitched, the sparks around them linking, spreading.

"I'll bid you all a fond farewell," Warren said expansively. "Enjoy the effects of the Araucaria blood. It doesn't just spread—it hardens too. I understand the amber that it forms is very beautiful. Of course," he laughed, "You'll have smothered to death before that phase, so I understand if you don't appreciate the thought. You'll be first slayer," Warren said, looking up. "Enjoy watching each other die."

Warren took one arm from around Tara's waist, giving a mocking wave goodbye to the Scoobies. Tara took advantage of his distraction, shoving Warren backwards with all her might as she ran toward Willow. But when she reached the purple field she began to burn, jerking back with a scream. She bowed her head, gasping, felt like she'd been electrified. Arms shaking, Tara held herself up with her hands propped on her knees. Her hands. Tara gasped as she held a hand up to look at it. Her skin was translucent, suffused with the purple light. She could see her bones, the fine networking of capillaries and veins beneath her skin.

"See, lovely? There's nowhere to go," Warren laughed. He grabbed her again. "Even if you could escape the field now you'd loose all cohesion, you'd disappear in a cloud of sparkly dust."

Tara struggled in his grasp. The humming rose in pitch again. She heard the tinkle of glass as the display cabinet beneath the register shattered.

"Time to go," Warren whispered. "Better say your goodbyes. You're never going to see these losers again.

Still struggling as she began to vanish into the sparkling glow, Tara wept, screamed. "Willow!"

Her shriek echoed even as she faded out of sight. Warren and Andrew disappeared in bursts of sparks. Jonathan was the last to begin to break apart. Before he faded he reached out a hand and muttered a single word, _napahu._

"No," Buffy raged. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

She struggled with all her slayer might, but the resin held fast.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

The moment that Jonathan was gone, his spell on Willow weakened—the dark texts in transit dropped to the floor, and the counter stopped rattling. Willow stirred weakly beneath the books piled on her, felt the ones on her clothes shift and slide. She tried to push herself up, to push free, but she couldn't move. She huddled in a corner of her mind, like a little child watching the night spread over the land, afraid of things that lived in the dark. _Help me_, she thought. _Tara, baby,_ _help me._ The darkness closed closer, closer, and she felt herself pulled under.

"Buffy what are we going to do?" Xander asked, pulling against the pre-amber encasing his arm.

"You heard the evil, evil man," Anya groaned, tugging at her foot. "Apparently we're going to die. I really don't want to die."

"Nobody's dying," Buffy said, struggling to move. She threw her head back in frustration, felt something in the ceiling give and shift. Buffy closed her eyes and tried to think of an answer. She couldn't let her family down. She couldn't leave Dawn again. There was a crackling sound, and then a thud as something hit the floor.

Buffy's eyes shot open and she saw a large chunk of pearly white resin crumbled beneath her. As she watched, another chunk fell away from her hips, crashing to the tile. She kicked her legs and they snapped free from the roof, leaving her hanging by her trunk, her arms.

"Guys," Buffy cried, voice wavering with relief. "It's breaking, the resin's breaking."

Xander gave a little woo of glee and began tugging at his arm again. After a few pulls the resin broke free from the floor. Xander stood up straight, groaning, and then he ran over to the bookshelves lining the wall, swinging his trapped arm in a long arc and smashing it against the oak. The resin casing shattered into shards and dust. Anya was still struggling to pull her foot free, and so he knelt down and grabbed her ankle with both hands.

"When I say go," he told her, "Pull as hard as you can."

"Okay," Anya replied.

"Go."

Anya began to strain and Xander pulled. After a few seconds of effort her leg came free, but unfortunately for Xander that meant her knee was driven straight into his stomach. He fell backward, gasping.

"Xander," Anya cried, leaning over to help him. Then a look crossed her face and she straightened. "Are you all right?" Her voice was distant, cold.

"I'll live," he groaned.

"I'm glad to hear it," Buffy said. "Anya, you check on Willow. Xander, see if you can grab my legs and pull me down. I promise I'll try not to kick you."

Xander climbed to his feet and walked over to Buffy, holding his stomach, while Anya ran over to Willow. Xander leapt up and grabbed hold of Buffy's legs, swinging back and forth.

"Oh Xan," Buffy huffed. "Eating a lot of Twinkies since you've been back?"

"They help the pain go away," Xander muttered.

"They're not helping my pain go away," Buffy said, teeth clenched as her best friend continued to use her as a rope swing. "How's Willow?" She called to Anya.

"I'll let you know as soon as I find her," Anya replied, still pushing books off of the slender witch. She sent each volume sliding away across the floor, trying to get them as far from Willow as possible. When she uncovered Willow's face she let out a little gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Anya?" Buffy said anxiously. Her sharp slayer hearing had picked up the sharp inhalation. "Is Willow all right?"

Anya slipped a hand down to Willow's neck, felt a pulse there, quick but strong. "She's alive," she replied. "But, Buffy, she doesn't look good." It was an understatement. Willow was ghostly pale, with deep circles under her eyes. Her bright copper hair was streaked with thick lines of black. Anya shook her head and pushed against a book on Willow's neck, but it wouldn't move.

"Better and better," the bottle blonde grumbled. "Xander hurry up and get Buffy down, I need her."

"Trying," Xander said, jumping up and tugging at Buffy's legs again. When she didn't fall he dropped back to the ground. "All right, Buff," he said, wiping sweat of his forehead. "The next time I jump up I want you to try and bend over. If you free your shoulders while I'm hanging onto your legs, that should be enough to pull you loose."

"Let's do it," she agreed.

Xander leapt up, wrapping his arms and legs around Buffy's legs. She bit her lip against the strain she felt in her hips, and tried with all her might to pull her shoulders sway from the ceiling. There was a gravelly crunch and chunks of resin began to fall. Buffy felt herself break free. It happened so quickly there was no time for a warning. Xander dropped to the floor and she landed on top of him, the back of her head just missing his knee.

"Thanks," Buffy said weakly.

"Welcome," Xander breathed.

"If you're done playing Two Stooges I really could use a hand over here," Anya said, her voice sharp.

Xander and Buffy struggled to their feet, limping across the Magic Box to join Anya where she watched over Willow.

"What is it?" Buffy asked, kneeling down next to her. "What's wrong?"

"Some of the books," Anya said, and then paused. "They're stuck. I can't get them off."

"What the hell did Jonathan do to her?" Xander asked, kneeling on the other side of Willow, taking the slim redhead's hand.

"He made her a magical loadstone," Anya said, grabbing another book from Willow's legs and tossing it away. "She drew all the dark magic stuff. Everything that touched her skin…it's stuck like glue."

"Ah god," Xander moaned, looking green.

"I'm not strong enough to get them off," Anya said. She caught Buffy's gaze. "You're going to have to do it."

Buffy grabbed one of the books on Willow's arm and tugged at it. There was a fleshy tearing sound and the book shifted, but a thin line of blood ran down Willow's arm, curving across the crook of her elbow. The moment she saw it Buffy dropped the book, holding up her hands.

"I can't," the slayer said, voice shaking. "It's hurting her."

Anya gripped Buffy's arm. "You have to. The dark magic in these books will poison her." She put a finger under the slayer's chin and forced her head up. "You have to do it, Buffy. If I could, I would."

The slayer nodded. She took a deep breath and then pulled as hard as she could, forcing the pages away from Willow's flesh. The book tore free, leaving a wide abraded patch on Willow's skin, beaded with blood. Buffy handed the book to Anya with trembling hands.

Xander reached out and gripped Buffy's shoulder. "You're doing great," he murmured. "Willow would thank you if she could, Buff."

Buffy shrugged and moved onto the next book, a thankfully small text, clinging to the back of Willow's left hand. As she began working it loose she closed her eyes. The sounds reminded her of her mother skinning raw chicken. Her stomach heaved.

"There's one thing I don't get," Xander said, to Anya, trying to look at anything but Buffy, at what Buffy was doing. "Why did the resin break? How did we get free?"

"Jonathan said something," Buffy murmured, wincing as she pulled the slender book away from Willow's hand and took more skin with it, leaving a long bloodied streak. "Right before he beamed out."

"What was it?" Xander asked.

Buffy shrugged. "It sounded like naugahyde, or nappy hair…"

"Napahu?" Anya asked.

"Maybe," Buffy said. "What does it mean?"

"It's Sumerian. It means break out." She paused. "He set us free."

"Why would Jonathan help us?" Xander asked.

"I don't—" Anya began.

"I can't express enough how much I don't care about Jonathan's last minute burst of conscience," Buffy growled. "We need to help Willow, and we need to find Tara."

Buffy sighed as she moved on to the next book; it was stuck against Willow's neck, her cheek. As she tugged on it the redhead began to whimper, but she didn't wake.

"I'm sorry, Will," Buffy murmured. "Just a few more. Can you guys find the first aid kid? We're going to need to disinfect these wounds and get her bandaged up. If we can do it before she comes around, all the better."

"Sure, Buff," Xander replied, standing.

"Sure," Anya echoed.

"Thanks," Buffy said hollowly. Xander gave her shoulder another squeeze before he followed off after Anya. "Just a few more, Will," Buffy choked, a tear trailing down each cheek. "I'm sorry." The slayer heard Tara's scream echoing in her head. "So sorry."

By the time Xander and Anya got back with the first aid kit, Buffy had removed most of the objects stuck to Willow's skin. The witch had raw, bleeding patches of skin on her cheek and neck, her arms and hands, even her fingertips. Thankfully the shirt and pants she wore had protected most of her body, but a long vellum scroll had wound around Willow's right leg. Buffy was slowly tugging it away from Willow's ankle when Xander ducked down next to her with the kit.

"Sorry we were gone so long," Xander murmured, "It took us a while to find the box with all that junk we piled in the practice room."

"It's all right," Buffy replied, never taking her eyes away from the scroll as she pulled it away from Willow's leg. Each little tug revealed another swath of bleeding, deeply abraded skin.

Anya reached down between them and opened the small white box. "I'll start cleaning the wounds," she said softly. Her hand shook as she took a few boxes and roll of gauze.

"Do you need help?" Xander asked, staring, horrified by the ruined flesh all over his best friend.

"I've done plenty of wound treatment over the past thousand years, believe it or not," Anya replied. There was no sarcasm or anger in her voice, just weariness. "I can handle the disinfecting wipes and ointment, but I could use another pair of hands for the bandages."

"Okay," Xander replied, he watched Anya tear open a box of wipes and begin gently cleaning the wound on Willow's face. "Ahn…thanks."

"She's my family too, Xander," she replied without looking up from her work. "You don't have to thank me."

"Xander," Buffy said softly. "I could use your help until Anya's ready for you."

"Anything," he said, shifting closer to Willow.

"I need you to cut her pajamas so I can get the rest of this thing off of her leg, okay?" She asked.

Xander nodded and pulled the little scissors out of the first aid kit, poising at the seam on the bottom of the black cotton pants.

"At least they're not her bumble bee pj's," he said softly. "Tara got those for her, she'd be so upset—" Xander stopped when his voice broke.

"Cut them up past her knee to start," Buffy said, reaching out and squeezing Xander's hand gently. "I'll let you know if we need to go higher."

As Xander hacked through the soft cotton, Buffy's hand moved just a few seconds behind, unwinding the scroll from her friend's flesh. Each little tug, each new inch of wound set the slayer's teeth clenching till she thought that they would crack. Xander made one last cut and Buffy gave a small sigh of relief. The coarse parchment ended just above Willow's knee. Her friend was almost free from the corrupting substance.

"I've got it from here, Xan-man, help Anya." She nodded toward the ex-demon, who'd begun dabbing antiseptic ointment on Willow's carefully cleaned wounds.

"You can start with her face," Anya told him. She sounded matter-of-fact, but it was clear that she'd been crying as she tended to Willow. Tear-lines streaked her reddened cheeks. "Be sure to use the gauze pads that are non-stick. We're going to have to change them pretty regularly, and I don't want to do any more damage to her skin."

"Kay," Xander said, his voice small and shaking as he reached for the box that held the pads she'd indicated.

When Buffy came to the last few inches of vellum, Willow began to whimper again, fingers stretching and then contracting into fists, over and over. Xander finished taping a pad in place over the wound on Willow's neck when her head began to shake back and forth, eyes rolling wildly beneath her lids.

"Will?" Buffy asked softly. She dropped the parchment and Willow stilled.

"You have to take it off, Buffy," Anya told her. She was winding gauze gently around the wound on Willow's hand.

"I'm hurting her," Buffy replied, her voice choked.

"You're helping her." Anya corrected.

"Just make it fast, Buff," Xander said. He grabbed another gauze pad and pressed it to a long wound on Willow's clavicle. "Like pulling off a Band-Aid."

"Of ultimate evil," Anya interjected.

"Yeah, a Band-Aid of ultimate evil. Very comforting, Anya."

"Thank you, Xander." Anya replied. She was smiling gently, and utterly sincere.

Xander opened his mouth to correct her and then just shook his head, carefully applying tape to the edges of the bandage he'd placed.

"Here we go," Buffy murmured.

She grabbed the edge of scroll and gave it a sharp yank. It ripped away, leaving Willow's knee beet red, as if she'd fallen asleep in the sun without sunscreen. As soon as if left Willow's skin, the witch began to shake, her legs kicking out as her spine locked.

"Hold her," Anya demanded, grabbed Willow's arm and pressing it against the floor.

Xander took her shoulders, trying his hardest to keep his best friend still, but Willow was too strong, she bucked up from the floor and then slammed back down with such force he was surprised the tile didn't crack beneath her head. Buffy locked her arms around Willow's legs, bringing all her strength to bear, just able to keep her from kicking and flailing. Her shaking grew more pronounced and suddenly Buffy, Xander, and Anya were all tossed away as energy the color of a midnight sky crackled over Willow's skin. As fast as it appeared it vanished, and she sat up, gasping for breath.

"Tara!" Willow cried. She staggered to her feet, staring around the Magic Box. "Baby?" She completed a slow rotation, taking in the devastation, the blasted remains of the demon, and hillocks of amber blood. There was no sign of Tara. "Where is she?" Willow sobbed, turning to her friends.

Buffy stood, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The slayer wasn't looking her in the eye and Willow felt a rush of fear. The dark pain of that emotion was immediately drawn down into the hideous power crawling through her, sending a wave of cramps through her belly. It was agonizing, blinding. She bent over and retched.

"Where?" She cried again. _Tara, Tara, please, I need you._ The words became a mantra, echoing in her head louder and louder, till she felt like she had to scream them out. But when she called Tara's name it was a weak gasp. Willow felt the trembling in her limbs strengthen, her knees buckled, and then strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her up.

"I've got you, Will."

For a moment she wanted to let herself pretend that the arms around her were her lover's, her soul mate's, that the hair brushing her cheek was golden blonde, smelling of honeysuckle. But it wasn't. Willow sobbed.

"Where is she, Buffy? Where's Tara?"

For a moment the slayer made no answer. In the seconds of silence, Willow relived another lifetime's horror. Tara, standing in front of the window, so beautiful, smiling, then crumpling to the floor with that look of terrified confusion on her face. Holding her body and knowing that everything that had made her Tara was gone, fled to some place Willow might never be able to find her, leaving behind the ghost of honeysuckle and lavender, cooling skin that was once so warm, leaving her alone.

"Is she alive?" Willow cried desperately, thrashing in Buffy's arms. "Please, goddess, just tell me."

"She's—" Buffy began. She continued in a whisper. "He took her, Willow. Warren and his goons took her. We don't…we don't know where she is."

_Don't know if she's alive_, Willow thought despairingly. _Gone, she's gone. _"Buffy," she choked.

"We'll find her," the slayer promised, helping Willow settle to the floor. The little blonde crouched next to her, holding her hand. "We'll get her back, and the geeks will get what's coming to them."

"She's right Will," Xander agreed. But the dark-haired man was standing with his arms crossed tight over his chest, his face strained and pale. "We'll find her. She'll be okay."

"How?" Willow asked hollowly.

Buffy gave Willow's hand a gentle squeeze and then straightened. "It's my fault, Will," she said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest in an unintentional echo of Xander. "They told me to be careful when I was fighting the demon. If I'd been more cautious I wouldn't have gotten—"

Willow could hear the grief and guilt in Buffy's voice, and a part of her wanted to reach out and comfort her friend, but it was swallowed by her ever-growing fear for Tara.

"No," Willow said, interrupting the slayer. "How will we find her?"

Buffy, Xander and Anya stared at one another over the top of Willow's head. The redhead could feel their tension, prickles of fear and guilt, but there was no certainty in them, no sense of purpose. They were lost, like she was lost, like Tara—Willow clutched her stomach and rocked against a fresh wave of pain. She forced herself to still, to take a steadying breath. Willow gathered the tattered remains of her lover's energy, casting them as a thin cloak around the darkness. The pain lessened, but wasn't gone. She could feel it, pushing, testing the limits of the Tara's borrowed strength. Willow was so focused that she didn't react when Xander made a high-pitched noise, like a gasp mixed with the beginnings of laughter.

"Will," Xander said softly, crouching down next to her. "You can find her."

She looked up at him slowly, felt a small, sluggish hope. "What?"

Xander nodded his head eagerly, throwing his hands in the air. "Remember when we resurrected Buffy and the biker demons came? We got separated, but Tara found you."

"She found me," Willow replied in a whisper.

She closed her eyes; fighting the tears she could feel prickling at the corners of her eyes as the memory Tara's voice echoed in her mind. _I was so lost_. Tara had been so frightened and confused when Willow pulled her essence back from the hell god. Willow had promised her, then and there, that she would always find her. But now—

"You know, Will," Xander said eagerly, squeezing her shoulder. "The giant firefly light. You can send it out to find Tara, and we can follow it. It'll lead us right to her."

They'd worked hard together, mastering the spell that would allow them to project their essence to their lover if they were ever separated. Tara had used the spell to lead Willow back to her when she was lost in the forest with Xander, hurting. And now Tara needed her, needed to be found, to be rescued. But because Willow had lost control, because she'd taken and taken without considering the hole she left behind, she'd been filled, been filled—

"Can't," Willow whimpered, focusing all her intent on the gauzy layer of Tara's power, Tara's love, that was keeping her safe, keeping her Willow.

"You don't know the spell?" Xander asked sadly.

"I know it," Willow groaned, "Can't use it, Xander. I can't use magic."

The dark-haired man bit his lip, bouncing a bit on his heels as he crouched next to her. He nodded, and opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, and another nod, he spoke.

"I know that you're afraid of getting addicted again," he said softly. "But it's just one spell, Will. You can handle one spell, right? To help us find her?"

Willow closed her eyes, felt tears drop onto her cheeks from her lashes. She had to make them understand. And understanding would come at a price. Willow opened her eyes. _They love me. They'll always love me._ But would they be afraid of her? Would she lose their trust all over again?

"Tara died," she began. She shifted her gaze from Buffy to Xander to Anya, back to Buffy again.

"We know, Will," Buffy said softly. "She told us, when you—"

"I…I did things," she continued, breath hitching as she tried not to cry. "I lost control of the magic." Willow took a deep breath, shook her head. "I gave control of it away. I wanted power, and I took it. I didn't care where it came from."

Buffy and Xander were pale. The dark-haired man looked a bit unsteady on his feet. Willow knew they were both imagining what she would do if anything happened to Tara. She wished that their imaginings could be worse than the truth of it. It would be so easy to stop, to hide it, hide it forever, but maybe honesty was part of her price—to find her Tara, to keep her safe.

"I didn't care where it came from," she repeated. "I wanted—"

"Vengeance." Anya's voice was soft. Willow looked up into her eyes and saw complete understanding there.

Willow nodded. "And I got it."

"Will—" Buffy began, wide-eyed.

Willow looked into her best friend's eyes, smiled sadly even as she cried. "I killed people, Buff."

Xander sat down hard on the floor, breath knocked out of him with a huff. He was staring at her, open-mouthed. "Willow…"

They wanted her to deny it. She could see it so clearly in their faces. Buffy and Xander wanted her to tell them that it wasn't true, that it was fear talking, or guilt. Willow let herself have the briefest moment where that was true, where she hadn't let grief take her, where she hadn't run herself mad. And then she let the moment go. She'd learned years before that she had to own that shadow, or it would own her.

"I tortured and killed people," she whispered, letting her eyes drift closed again. It was easier when she couldn't see the horror on their faces.

"And when you tried to stop me," she continued, "I fought…I hurt…anyone and everyone around me."

She felt herself pulled through the memory of those horrible events, of the monster she'd made of herself, and then felt a little light piercing all that pain. Because it wasn't where the story ended, was it? Willow felt a rush of love for the people around her, felt it strengthening the tatters of Tara's magic. She smiled at the trio who watched her with such concern, such—she could finally see it, still there beneath the shock. Such love. "But then you saved me."

Buffy let out the long breath she'd been holding, nodding her head. Xander had his fists pressed to his mouth. Anya's expression hadn't changed since the moment Willow opened her eyes—the smallest smile curving the lips of a very guarded face.

"You saved me," Willow told them. "And I learned ways to save myself. I learned to control the magic again. But now that I'm back, that I'm here, the Ter Sis Animi—"

"Sent you back into the war," Anya said.

Willow stared at her for a moment, nodded. "That darkness in me, it's awake, and I can't stop it. I can't use this magic, Xand," Willow said, smiling at her old and dear friend. "Because it isn't mine. And if I let it, it'll have me."

"What do we do?" Xander asked, voice soft. "How can we find her?"

She took in a breath to reply to her friend and found a sob was all that escaped her. Tara, her sweet girl, her soul mate, was trapped with Mears—a sadistic, misogynistic killer who was as terrible a monster as she had ever been. Willow pulled her legs up to her chest and rocked herself, tried to think of an answer.

Against the backdrop of her grief she heard footsteps, the warmth of a body settling down beside her. When Willow felt a warm hand grip her own she stilled, and opened her eyes. Anya was holding an amulet up from beneath her blouse—D'Hoffryn's talisman.

"Just wish it," Anya said solemnly, giving Willow's hand a gentle squeeze. "Just wish it and I'll do everything in my power to find Tara."

_Wish it? _Willow shook her head, she was foggy, exhausted.

"Ahn?" Xander asked, sounding absolutely bewildered, "What?"

Buffy took a step closer, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "When did you go all large with the vengeance again?" The slayer asked.

"When do you think?" The vengeance demon asked, jerking her head in Xander's direction.

As they talked, Willow's eyes widened and she locked her gaze on Anya. She'd almost forgotten the woman had gone back to D'Hoffryn, even if it had only been for a short time. But was it possible? Would Anya be able to use her powers to find Tara? Hope glimmered in her, faint as the stars at dawn.

"You'd do that, Anya?" Willow asked in a hush. "You'd help me, help Tara?"

"Of course," Anya said, smiling and squeezing Willow's hand again. "Tara's the nicest Scooby. She never makes fun of me for my honesty and love of money and the things you can use money to buy." Anya swiped tears from her cheeks as if there were some petty annoyance. "She is the closest thing I have to a best friend in this world. Tara's family."

"But Anya," Xander began.

She held up a hand. "We don't have time for you to talk this out, Xander. I have to go and find Tara, before something happens to her."

He opened his mouth again but Buffy walked over and laid her hand on his shoulder. "She's right, let her go, Xand."

Willow threw hands over her face as they reasoned with Xander, mind flooded with a hundred nightmare images of what Warren, in the cruelty of his sociopathic fog, was capable of doing. What he already might've done to Tara.

"Willow." Anya's voice was soft, her warm grip insistent. "Look at me, Willow."

She opened her eyes to find Anya leaning close.

"If there is a way to find her, I will find her," the demon intoned. "If that is what you wish."

Willow swallowed, nodded. When she spoke her voice was rough with tears. "Anya, I wish that you would find my love, that you will find my Tara for me."

"Your wish is granted," Anyanka replied, and her face shimmered between the beauty of her human guise and the ridged ruin of her demonic form, and then back again.

She wanted to thank her, but Willow didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded.

"And if they've hurt her," Anya continued, face darkening. "I'll make them pay. I'll peel the flesh from their bones."

"No!" Willow cried, clutching both of Anya's hands.

She saw Warren hanging, mouth bound with thick, crude thread, bleeding from the metal piercing his chest. Heard her own voice, flat, dead, _bored now_, and the man slick pink, muscles peeled, bare, from head to toe.

"No," she gasped again. She stared into Anya's eyes. "Anya, don't kill them. Tara wouldn't want that. I don't want that. I don't want you to be a killer like—" she broke off, blinded with tears. "Like me," Willow said finally.

There was nothing but silence for a moment, and then Willow found herself being pulled into the vengeance demon's arms.

"Okay I promise," Anya murmured to Willow, patting in her back. "I don't understand it entirely, but I promise." She gave Willow one last squeeze and then released her, rising to her feet. "I'll be right back." Anya disappeared in a gust of air and light.

"What do we do now?" Xander asked.

Before either woman could answer there was a rattling, a scrambling, outside the Magic Box. Buffy spun toward the sound, stepping in front of Willow with her fists raised. Xander took up station on the other side of Willow, his face pale and grim.

"We've gotcha, Will," he said softly.

There was a scrape of wood on cement and then Dawn came stumbling through the doorway.

"What the heck happened?" The girl asked, staring around the shop. "Somehow I don't think this is Anya's idea of spring cleaning."

Willow, Buffy, and Xander just stared.

"Buffy?" Dawn said, taking another step toward them. "What happened? What's wrong? Is Anya okay?" Her eyes widened as she saw Willow on the floor. "What happened?" She cried shrilly, running over and dropping down next to the witch, laying a gentle hand on the redhead's bandaged cheek. "Willow what happened to you?"

"Dawnie—" She choked, but the girl wasn't looking at her, instead her gaze darted around the Magic Box.

"Willow," Dawn said tentatively, voice shaking. "Where's Tara?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

First there was pain, and heat. She could feel sweat trickling down between her breasts from it, the stifling mugginess. Every inch of her ached and the heat did nothing to soothe it, it wrapped around the pain, squeezing and tugging like prying hands, left her whimpering and longing to move, but she couldn't move.

"Just a dream," she whimpered to herself, and then shook with a silent sob.

There had been love, and friendship. Acceptance. There had been freedom. She should've known it was a dream. Those things weren't for her, would never be for her, how many times did she have to be told? She wanted to reach up and wipe away her tears, but didn't dare. There was so much pain already. She just didn't want there to be any more pain.

And pain was what the box was all about.

The pain was masked, of course, in beauty, in an illusion of perfection. She wondered if her father had had a symbolic moment as he built the huge oaken footlocker, if—as he polished the smoothed exterior with its hand-chiseled scrollwork, adding coat after coat of varnish till it gleamed like a thousand-dollar piece in some fancy shop—he thought of his family, of the secrets, of the mask that he presented to the world. The inside of the trunk, their secret heart, their truth, had been torn and roughened with a screwdriver, every inch a jagged, splintered mess, to pierce, to wound, leaving countless barbs to be dug from the flesh. The hidden shame and rage, the anger, given physical presence.

But to the world, it was a beautiful trunk, with its brushed steel-tipped corners, its little steel lock. And what a shame that they kept it up in the attic for storing winter blankets. Only the family knew it was for storing her father's cruelty. If only she could remember what she'd done to earn his wrath. Was dinner burned again? Had she talked back to him? To her brother? There was nothing, just a nameless dread, a tight and nauseating panic.

"Momma?" She cried softly.

Her mother was the only comfort from the torture of the box, the heat and the ramped muscles that would inevitably spasm, sending her limbs flailing, to leave her skin torn, pierced with slivers fine as hair, thick as pencils, and every shape and size in-between. There wasn't any answer to her cry and so she called her mother again, a little louder. Still nothing. Something had to be horribly wrong. Her mother always stayed with her in the attic, talked to her, sang to her. And when her father finally relented and she was freed from the box, her mother rubbed the life back into cramped and prickling limbs, cleaned and bandaged after furtively using her powers to draw the splinters out.

"Momma!" She screamed it now, not carrying who heard, terrified that in this latest burst of rage her father may have somehow hurt her mother.

Throwing all caution to the wind, she tried to reach out, to pound on the sides of the box and demand to see her mother, even as she knew her hands would be a pulpy ruin, that her father would likely leave her there for days, lying in her own filth. She would get water of course, every morning and night, for sheer survival. But when she tried to move her arms there was just a white-hot pain in her shoulders, an odd floating movement. She kicked out with her feet and screamed with the agony of it when her shoulders flared again, giving into burning pins-and-needles, drawing up above her head, like fire ants feasting on her skin.

_Hanging_, she realized. _ I'm not in the box. I'm hanging._

In that one moment of clarity, the illusion of childhood helplessness faded. Tara wept as she remembered how the perfect peace of her reunion with her lover had been shattered. The screaming, the blood, the crawling blackness. Her lover falling under a deluge of objects permeated with dark magic. She wept, not for her own pain, but with fear—her fear of her lover's torturous fight, fear of the silence that had echoed in her mind before she was pulled away.

"Willow!" Tara screamed, throwing back her head as her body rocked in the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

"Tara, Ta-ra…"

The voice was soft, singsong, piercing the fog of sleep the hung over her. Keeping her eyes closed, Tara let a little grin creep across her features, knowing that Willow would see. 'Still Sleeping' was one of their favorite games, whichever girl woke first would find some sweet and romantic way to wake the other, while the one being woken would keep her eyes closed until she could no longer resist that first good morning kiss. The first time they'd made love, Willow had woken her the next morning by brushing a rose on her lips, her cheeks, her chin, a silky caress that smelled almost as wonderful, as sweet, as her red haired lover. 'Still Sleeping' had been part of their life, their love, ever since.

Some mornings it would be a gesture as simple as an embrace, or breakfast in bed, she knew her Willow loved the days she work her with a song and the stroke of skin on skin. Tara wondered what surprise her lover had in store. She faked a little yawn, deciding she would turn on her side so that when she opened her eyes Willow would be the first thing she saw. Willow, bright haired, blazing like a flame, like an angel, from the sunlight pouring through their bedroom window.

Tara shifted her body and bit back a scream as pain shot through her back, shoulders. Her hands burned as if they'd been plunged through fresh-broken ice into frozen lake water. It took everything in her not to scream. Taken. Hanging. The call of her lover just a dream. She kept still, didn't open her eyes. Someone was with her in the darkness. Maybe, if they thought she was sleeping—

"Tara," the voice called again, closer now. She flashed back to the Magic Box, and that voice, hissing in her ear. _"You stay right here with me."_ Mears, she was alone, in the dark, with Mears. She let her body hang limp, head lolling, trying not to feel like the same helpless child who'd played possum so many times in the attempt to end one of her father's punishments.

"Did you fall back to sleep, Tara?" Warren asked. Tara fought a shudder as she realized that he was close enough now to reach out and touch her. "I know you were awake before," he chuckled. "The room is bugged. I heard you calling for your mommy and your junkie."

Tara's body tensed as a hand reached out and shoved her stomach, sending her rocking backwards. A little hiss of pain escaped her and she heard Mears laugh out loud.

"I knew you were awake. You do know that they can't help you, right?" He paused, and an amber light flared in the room.

Tara fought the urge to wince. The brightness was painful, even in the diffuse glow through her eyelids.

"According to my records here," Warren continued, with the soft sound of paper being shuffled. "Your mother died a long time ago. Yes, very dead. And if Rosenberg isn't yet, she will be soon."

"No!" Tara's voice was a low growl. Her eyes flickered open as she lunged toward Mears, bearing her teeth even as her arms began to throb and ache with fresh agony.

Mears just slipped back out of her range, clucking his tongue, mouth twisted in a wry grin.

"Shame on you. But don't worry; you'll learn how to behave soon. You'll be my good, cooperative girl."

Tara felt nausea roll over her, even as her fury set her trembling. The leer on the man's face was absolutely repulsive. She decided to wipe it off.

"I'm not one of your dolls, Warren," she said in a tone blistering with contempt. "There's nothing you could do to make me cooperate with you. I don't have genuine molded plastic stamped anywhere on my ass. Excuse me," she said in a high and oddly stilted voice, "Have you seen Warren?" She grinned broadly at the wince that flashed across her kidnapper's face, though the smile didn't reach her steely eyes. "Never," she said.

Warren took a step closer, near enough that Tara would've sworn she could see the gear that had slipped in the bastard's mind.

"Are you sure about that?" He asked. Tara suppressed a shiver of fear at the glee in the man's voice.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Anya rematerialized in a dark space. She immediately stilled, holding out her hands and straining her ears for any sign of her missing friend.

"I can't risk calling out," she murmured to herself, giving a little sigh of frustration. "Wouldn't that be hilarious? Go off to the rescue and get chopped in half by some big sword or buzz saw booby-trap. Gone," she said, she started to snap and then stopped herself, shaking her head. "Like that, a footnote in the history of fumbling rescues. Thank the powers that I'm not that dumb."

Anya began to turn in a slow circle, careful not to move her feet, instead shuffling her shoes against what she imagined was a packed earth floor, either that or old, unsealed concrete. When she was half way through her rotation there was a shift in the quality of the darkness. She took another quarter-turn and saw it. There, on the far side of the space she'd found herself in, a light, a pale amber glow in the distance.

_I'm coming, Tara_, she thought, and crept toward that breach in the darkness.

After minutes of moving with agonizing care, slow and slow, never making a sound, even when she nearly tripped on a rough patch of flooring, Anya was finally drawing close. Just a few more feet, and then she'd be within arm's reach of the light. In the same moment there was a slow, shifting movement. Something was swinging, slipping from the light and back into the shadows, over and over again. She made a silent plea to all the forces above and below and stepped into the light.

A pendulum was hanging over Anya's head.

"Huh?" She said. Her brow furrowed with confusion.

The pendulum was a stretched ovoid, suspended from the ceiling on a line of metal strands coiled like a rope. The disk was bronze, thick with the patina of age, and covered with twisted runes in a language she didn't recognize. The letters on the object shifted. The movement was slow and almost oily, phasing and adapting their shape even as she watched. Anya pulled her gaze away when pain flared behind her right eye.

"Stupid, displeasing pendulum," she muttered. "Tara!" She cried loudly, impatience and worry overwhelming her instinct for caution. "Tara are you here? Answer me!"

Her voice echoed into the darkness. She strained, listening for any cry, any hint of a reply to her call.

"No Tara," a voice whispered in her ear. "Just you and I."

Anya shrieked and spun around, clutching her chest. When she saw the source of her momentary terror her eyes widened.

"D'Hoffryn?"

"Hello, Anyanka."

The demon master was pacing around the boundary of the circle of light, dressed in his customary robes, rough horns glistening as if freshly polished. He was smiling at her, stroking his beard with a leisurely hand. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again a half dozen times beneath the weight of his black gaze. The wrong question, even hoping for the wrong answer, could lead to a very final, fatal road. She would be of no help to Tara. She would be of no help to anyone. _How many times will I fear death today?_ She grumbled to herself. Another minute passed before she finally thought of an innocuous question.

"Where are we?" She asked.

The demon gave a little chuckle, never slowing his progress around the circle. "We are in an edge place, my dear Anyanka. A boundary. Not in the human world, not in Arashmahaar, but so very, very close to each."

"I see," Anya replied. _Crap. Crap. Crap._

D'Hoffryn gave a full-fledged laugh at her reply, throwing his head back to let the sound of it ring against the ceiling high above their heads. Still he kept his steady pace, Anya making the occasional turn to keep him in her sights.

"Well, now that you've asked a question of me, Anyanka, I suppose that I should ask one of you. Would that be all right?"

"Does that count as the question?" Anya asked before she could stop herself, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes as she waited for his wrath to descend upon her. She was shocked when he laughed again.

"Look upon, me, Anyanka." When she opened her eyes, she found that D'Hoffryn had stopped walking and stepped into the light. The demon was watching her with his hands steepled beneath his chin. "Are you on a mission of vengeance?"

_And we have number three,_ Anya thought wearily. _I really don't want to die today._

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_  
_

"What do you mean we aren't going to go look for her?" Dawn cried, her voice high and strident.

"Keep it down," Buffy murmured darkly, nodding her head toward Willow, who had collapsed into a fitful sleep. The slim, red haired witch was curled inside the restored yarrow circle, Xander watching over her close by.

"What do you mean?" Dawn hissed in a whisper, pulling Buffy away from Willow and Xander, toward the research table.

"I didn't say that we aren't going to look for her," Buffy said firmly, "I said that we need to wait."

Dawn rolled her eyes and Buffy pushed down an angry retort. An epic Summers-sister battle wouldn't get them anywhere. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Dawn," she said softly, taking the girl's hand off her arm and cradling it gently in her own hands. "We're waiting for more information." Buffy broken the news about Anya's return to the vengeance yet, didn't know how to in the face of everything that had happened.

"You can't trust Spike," Dawn said, stomping her foot.

"It's not Spike," Buffy said soothingly.

"Well it's not like I actually expect you to tell me," Dawn snarled. "No one ever tells me anything." She tugged her hand away from Buffy and crossed her arms. "If we have to sit around waiting for your mystery informant, why don't we at least call the police? It's a kidnapping. Those three cretins kidnapped Tara, they deserve to get arrested. Besides," she said after a moment's pause. "The more people looking for her, the better.

Buffy shook her head. "Dawn, you and I both know that the cops can't handle these three. They might be total spastic geeks," she said wistfully, "But they're spastic geeks playing with magic and technology that's way beyond the poor schleps from the Sunnydale PD. It's not like we can look them up in the phone book under Geek Trio or Pain in the Slayer's Ass."

Buffy smiled at her sister weakly, hoping the brunette would go along with her feeble attempt at a joke. "Xander made the suggestion but I told him I didn't think we were that lucky."

"And so we're just going to stand here?" Dawn squeaked. As Buffy watched her sister's eyes filled, a tear slipped down her cheek. "Buffy, Tara—" she choked, shaking her head and looking down at the floor.

"I know," Buffy said, putting a finger under her sister's chin and titling the girl's head back to look her in the eye. "I love Tara too. She's like a sister to me, Dawn. She's part of our family." Buffy paused. "And I know, I know that since Mom—"

The gratitude Buffy felt to Tara, for stepping in and being a mother to her sister when she couldn't, had always burned brighter in Buffy than the guilt she felt at being so awkward in the role herself. And she didn't just watch over Dawn. _She watches over us all,_ Buffy thought, biting her lip to hold back tears. _Tara is the heart of us._

"Then you know why I can't just sit around here waiting," Dawn replied. Before Buffy could say another word Dawn turned and ran out into the night.

"Dammit," Buffy growled. "I'll be right back," she told Xander in a whisper, and ran off into the dark after her stubborn, stubborn sister.

When Buffy stepped out of the Magic Box there was no sign of Dawn, just the distant sound of traffic and the electrical hum from the irregularly spaced streetlights casting their harsh glow on the sidewalk. Buffy closed her eyes, straining her senses. She let the noise of the city—of mankind itself—fade away. There was the crystalline squeal of hunting bats, the groan of buildings, of tree branches, as a wind moved through the town. And underneath it all, the pounding rhythm of her little sister's heartbeat, the slap of her sneakers on pavement, the gasp of her sobs.

"Dawnie," Buffy murmured. She turned and ran toward downtown.

With her slayer-speed it didn't take Buffy long to catch up to her sister, even though Dawn was running at top speed, and had a much longer stride. Buffy called to her as soon as she had Dawn in her sights, but Dawn didn't answer, she just kicked off harder, turning off down a side street.

"Since when do you like cross-country?" Buffy cried, voice rough with exasperation. She put on a burst of speed and came around the corner. Within five steps she'd taken Dawn's arm, pulling her to a stop.

"Let me go," Dawn cried. She pulled with all her strength and when her arm didn't move, even an inch, Dawn slumped. "Damned slayer strength."

"Watch your language," Buffy replied.

"I'll watch my damned language if you let go of my damned arm," Dawn grumped. "I'm going to go look for Tara."

"Dawn, you're a seventeen year old girl. We spent months hunting the Geek Trio and we never managed to find them. The only thing you're going to do running around at night like this is end up as vamp food." When Dawn still wouldn't look at her, Buffy sighed. "Anya will be back soon, Dawn. Then we'll spring into action in true Scooby fashion, promise."

"Anya?" Dawn asked, finally turning to look at her sister. "What does this have to do with her? You told me she left because she was so upset at the state of the shop." Dawn began to bounce on the balls of her feet. "Does she know where Tara is?" She asked excitedly. Her joy disappeared as quickly as it came. "If Anya knows where Tara is, why isn't she here? Why isn't she helping?"

Buffy groaned and dropped her head into her hands. "You've caught babble from hanging out with Will too much," she said, voice muffled. "If you'll stop for just a minute," Buffy continued, looking up. "I'll explain.

Dawn crossed her arms and pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes," Buffy replied. "Anya isn't here because she's gone to find Tara."

"So she knows where Tara is?" Dawn repeated.

"No," Buffy said.

"Then how—" Dawn began.

"She is going to go to Tara because Willow wished it."

"Don't use the 'w' word," Dawn said, clapping her hands over Buffy's mouth. The slayer tipped her head and raised her eyebrows until her sister released her with a blush.

"I said Willow wished, I didn't make a wish."

"Sorry," Dawn said, ducking her head.

"First a Willow imitation, and now a Tara," Buffy said kindly, tipping her sister's head up again. The slayer could see understanding darkening her sister's blue eyes.

"So," Dawn said softly, hesitantly, "Anya's a vengeance demon again?"

Buffy nodded her head. "I figured you'd had enough bad news for one day. I wasn't going to say anything."

"Poor Xander," Dawn sighed.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "And poor Willow, and poor Tara too."

Dawn began to wring her hands. "Tara," she murmured. "What if Anya doesn't find her? What if the Geeks have, I don't know, some kind of demon blocking thing? I need to go, I need to look for her."

Dawn began to walk off into the darkness again. Buffy watched her moving away from her. She opened her mouth to speak but a choked sob slipped out instead. Buffy doubled over, cramming a fist against her mouth. She took a gasping breath and dropped to her knees as another sob shook her slight frame.

"Buffy?"

The slayer could barely hear Dawn's voice over the sound of her own weeping. She felt warm arms wrap around her and she began to keen, calling out her worry and grief.

"Buffy?" Dawn asked again. "Buffy, please don't cry, I'm sorry."

"Don't go Dawn," Buffy gasped. "I know," Buffy wept. "I know I haven't been there for you, not the way you needed me, but I want that to change. And it can't change Dawn, not if you go."

"Buffy I'm not leaving forever," Dawn said, patting her on the back, obviously trying to placate her sister. "I just want to do my part."

"Then do it, Dawn," Buffy said, sitting up a swiping a hand across her eyes. "Be the adult, the Scooby that I know you can be and come back to the Magic Box with me. As much as it sucks, sometimes doing our part means playing the waiting game."

"But—" Dawn began.

"I can't," Buffy said. She took a breath, hoping to calm herself, only to feel more tears well. "I can't afford to have my head and my heart split in two directions. Tara's missing. Willow's sick, and we don't know why, or how to fix it. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to them."

"It won't Buffy," Dawn interrupted, "We won't let it." She fell silent when Buffy pressed her fingertips to Dawn's lips.

"I don't know what I would do without them," Buffy repeated. "But I do know that I can't do without you, Dawn. You're my sister. I need to know that you're safe, so that I can make sure the rest of our family is safe."

Dawn pulled Buffy back into her arms and the slayer returned her embrace, holding her sister tight as they both cried. After a few minutes of murmured apologies and reassurances, the sisters separated.

"We better get back," Dawn murmured. "Xander will be worried."

"Right," Buffy agreed. She stood and helped Dawn to her feet. "Let's hope Anya's back with some good news."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Anya didn't move, she didn't breathe. She knew that even the smallest flicker of guilt or fear or doubt could be her unmaking.

"Shall I repeat the question?" D'Hoffryn asked, voice lofty, almost sweet with unconcern.

"No!" Anya said quickly, feeling like she was standing on a razor's edge. For a chilling moment she wondered if D'Hoffryn could actually make that happen, change the shape of the in-between as he could alter reality in Arashmahaar. "I mean yes! No, you don't have to repeat yourself, and yes, of course this is a mission of vengeance."

D'Hoffryn raised a hand in the air, gesturing for Anya to continue.

"I'm saving the witch from her captors so that she and her mate can work their magics together to torture the men horribly. There will be much screaming and rending of flesh," she said with forced cheer, smiling. "But that can't happen if she's still being held prisoner. Those two are at their most powerful when they're together."

"I see," D'Hoffryn replied. He began his slow walk around the circle again.

Anya stayed completely still, even though she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise every time the demon stepped behind her. With every pass D'Hoffryn seemed to be moving a bit closer, until, when he stopped again, he was within inches of Anya.

"So your role here," he continued, "Is a vengeance facilitator?"

"Isn't that what our role always is?" Anya asked. "I don't see how this is any different that Tibet, 1913. I turned that woman into a yeti so she could work her wrath upon those who'd wronged her. This—" Anya fell silent again when D'Hoffryn held up a hand.

"No need for all the alliteration," D'Hoffryn said archly. "I do see your perspective. Facilitation. I will allow you to complete the wish, but know that it will be exactly that wish, and that all others you fulfill will be direct acts of vengeance, as is befitting one of your station." He leaned toward her. "You should meditate upon that, Anyanka. Yes, I think that would do you much good. Time and contemplation."

He pointed up at the pendulum and smiled as Anya winced when her gaze flickered to the disturbing object.

"Of course," Anya said, nodding. "Time and thinking, I will absolutely contemplate the wisdom of your words, D'Hoffryn." _Now get out of here and let me go find my friend, _Anya thought.

D'Hoffryn nodded and took a step backward, so that only his face was left clear of the darkness. Anya found herself frozen under the weight of his gaze, it was like his eyes were growing, widening, until they were all she could perceive in the universe.

"I depart with this caution, Anyanka. If a fury of vengeance has not been unleashed by the end of this, if lives are not lost, I will be…most displeased." With those words D'Hoffryn vanished in a rush of air and lightning, knocking Anya off her feet.

"Ow," Anya said in a drawn-out groan. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath, and then slowly made her way back to her feet, rubbing her sore derriere. "Perfect. Just perfect. Mister 'incinerate you with a clap' is keeping an eye on me. Fantastic."

Anya shook her head and then closed her eyes, marshalling her powers. She pushed her body out of phase and stepped into the void, only to stumble as she tripped over the rough ground.

"What?" Anya focused again, attempted a second teleport, but nothing happened. "What is going on here?" She fumed.

Anya stomped out of the circle, into the darkness, calling to D'Hoffryn, but there was no answer. Finally she began walking back and forth through the seemingly endless in-between she'd been pulled into by the demon, careful to always keep the light as a reference point. After a few minutes she sighed and walked back into the light, the only sound the click of the pendulum shifting above her head. Anya looked up with a groan. _Time and contemplation_, he'd told her. _Sonofabitch. _

The vengeance demon settled to the ground and stared up at the pendulum, her eyes beginning to water as the runes swam into different configurations. With each liquid shift of the metal, Anya felt a knife-sharp stab behind her eyes, nausea curdling in her stomach. She pushed the feeling down and pulled herself into full lotus position, hands lying gently on her knees, thumb touching forefinger. _Time to see if all those yoga and meditation classes paid off._ Anya let her eyes go unfocused, observed the pain without reacting against it, as she slowly began counting each exhale.

When she reached a thousand breaths, Anya felt her vision narrowing, going strange. All she could see now was the pendulum. It seemed to glow with its own light. The twisting runes seem to be shifting in a rhythm, a pattern that held some message for her, if she could only tease it out. She wondered dimly if the pathways of her brain were being rewritten as she watched. It was like the thought turned a key. Words began to shimmer on the boundaries of the metal.

"From beneath us," she began in a whisper.

Anya broke off, shrieking at the sensation of something digging in to her mind; she was surprised she didn't hear her skull groaning with the strain of it. She pulled her gaze away from the pendulum and the pain vanished. Anya could feel tears running down her face and she wiped them away with an impatient sigh. When she looked down her hands were tinged red.

"Weeping blood," she said matter-of-factly, nodding her head. "That's probably a really bad sign. Well, this has just been a totally crap day." Anya pressed her hands to the ground so that she could stand, and as soon as the blood touched the earth she felt the crackle of her power's return.

"Bodily fluids? Really?" Anya said, placing her hands on her hips and staring around the in-between. "You know," she called to the nothingness, "A heads up would've been nice. I could've thrown up twenty minutes ago and been outta here." She sighed. "I'm coming, Tara."

Anya vanished, and the light with her, leaving the in-between still and empty but for the steady click of the pendulum.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tara didn't know how long she'd been in the darkness with Mears just staring at her. Every so often he would give her another gentle shove, sending her spinning back into the darkness, biting her lip against the pain. The little smile that flickered across his face at every miniscule signal of her misery was chilling, the same look she'd seen once on her brother's face as he careful used a nail gun to pin a dead squirrel to the wall of his tree house. There was a tension to the furtive moments of pleasure. The same thought echoed through her head in that moment that had when she was a girl. _Mad, but not a mad dog, because a mad dog doesn't know right from wrong. He knows, he just doesn't care._

"Tara," Warren said sadly, stepping to the side just in time to avoid her still-rocking body. "You don't seem happy."

He watched as she slowly rocked to a stop. Once she was completely still he reached out toward her. Tara realized he was going to try and touch her face, and jerked away from his hand, spinning herself in a circle in the process.

"Feisty," he laughed. "Don't worry, in just a little while you'll feel better."

Tara rolled her eyes at the cryptic statement. "There you go again," she said, trying to egg him on. Better to be tortured then to have to hang like a piece of meat in front of his beady, ogling eyes. "I don't know what twisted little universe you're living in, Mears. The only thing that will make me b-better is getting away from you!"

"You know, Tara" Warren said, as if he hadn't heard her outburst. "It all goes back to Thomas Edison. He was a really brilliant guy, but he messed up a lot. I know," he said happily, gesturing toward himself. "There are some similarities, right? The key for Edison, and one I've always striven to emulate, is perseverance. He never gave up, and eventually he got it right."

Mears walked around to face Tara. "Edison said that '_Many of life's failures are men who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up._' And that was me. I was going to give up." Warren looked at the floor pacing for a moment.

You see," he said, smiling up at her again. "Jonathan and Andrew worked up a…tool for me. Something I needed to," he paused, gave a little shrug. "Mend fences with my ex, Katrina. And it worked," he said eagerly, "But only for a little while. I almost gave up on the idea all together, but then I thought of good old Tom, and I kept digging. And that's how I found out that we just need to tap a serious power source for the rite, hah, the right source for the rite," he laughed.

Tara stared at him, felt fear prickle over her skin, across the back of her neck, leaving her covered in gooseflesh. A spell? He was going to do a spell on her?

"And when the rite is done, Tara," Mears continued, with all the joy of a man delivering good news, "You're going to love me."

Mears was looking up at her with absolute sincerity. Tara couldn't hold back the bark of laughter that spilled from her throat.

"Apparently you missed something in all your careful research—I'm a lesbian. So," she said with a sardonic laugh, "Even if I weren't in love with my soul mate, even if you weren't an ugly, evil, egomaniacal, murderous bastard, I still wouldn't want you. I don't want anything to do with you."

Without another word Tara threw herself forward and spit in Warren's face.

He just smiled at her for a moment, unblinking, and then his fist lashed out, quick as a snake strike, knocking her across the mouth. Tara didn't make a sound; she just gave her head a little shake to clear it, running her tongue over the blood trickling from her split lip. Warren shuffled from foot to foot and Tara grinned inwardly at the hint of discomfiture it showed. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying out.

Mears moved closer. When he spoke again it was in a snarl inches from her face. Tara could feel spit flecking her cheeks.

"When we complete the rite, you'll be whoever I want you to be. Do whatever I want you to do. You will feel how I tell you to feel."

He took a deep breath and forced a smile back on his face. "And if by some chance the slayer and your soul mate," his mouth twisted as he spoke the phrase, as if it were a curse, "Managed to survive, I will make you kill them. Look forward to that. I know I am."

Mears shoved her wildly and strode off. Tara spun, whimpering once she knew that her captor was out of earshot. There was the distant sound of a door sliding open, slamming shut, and then she was alone in the darkness again. Warren's words echoed in her head, his certainty that he would be able to change her, to force her—Tara's heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt a burning in her chest, like she couldn't catch her breath. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried not to consider the horrors that awaited her if Mears could actually make good on his threat.

And then hands gripped her hips.

"No!" Tara shrieked, thrashing, sure that Mears hadn't really left, that he had crept back through the darkness, unwilling to wait for the rite he'd spoken of. "Don't touch me!"

"Stop, Tara, stop."

The words were spoken in a hiss, but the speaker was undeniably female. "Anya?" Tara asked incredulously, voice shaking.

"Yes, now stop kicking me," Anya said firmly.

"Anya, b-but how?" Tara wished there was light, that she could see her friend.

"Long story short, Xander is a putz and I'm a vengeance demon again. Willow wished that I would find you, and so here I am."

Tara heard a soft jingling sound and then a pale blue-white light flared, revealing Anya's grim face.

"I forgot I had a little flashlight on my keys," the demon girl explained. "You know," she continued, "Willow told me not to peel that guy's skin off, but if you're in disagreement, feel free to wish away."

Tara nodded, still feeling a bit stunned. She realized that Anya might take that as her permission to let the evisceration commence and immediately began to shake her head.

"N-no, don't kill them," she stammered.

Anya sighed and rolled her eyes. "You do realize that you're chained to the ceiling right? Don't answer that," she said, holding up her free hand.

"You s-said W-Willow wished you here, so sh-she's—"

"I know that I am usually patient with your involuntary letter repetition, but in the interest of time, everyone is alive. Jonathan used some Sumerian spell to free us before he transported out, though we don't know why. No one died," she repeated.

"W-W-W," Tara began. She felt her heart begin to race. _Willow_, she thought. _How is Willow?_

"Willow is fine." Anya replied, as if she'd heard Tara's silent plea. But then she paused. "Well, she's a bit messed up, but alive, and I'm sure she'll heal up fine."

Before Tara could ask what had happened, Anya spoke again. "Tara, I don't know how much time we have. Make a wish to be free and we'll find a way out of here."

"I w-wish I w-were free," Tara murmured.

"Wish granted," Anya said, voice going strange for an instant as her face shifted, human to demon and back again.

Nothing happened. Tara was still hanging from the rafters, bound in her chains. Anya stomped her foot and made her pronouncement again, growling. When Tara's chains didn't open, the vengeance demon gave a little grunt of aggravation and wrapped her arms around Tara's legs, tugging downward. Tara gave a sharp cry as shackles dug into her wrists and Anya stopped.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Sorry. I thought maybe the lock was stuck."

"I think it's still l-locked," Tara replied weakly. "Maybe the geeks are blocking your powers somehow?"

"That's a good theory," Anya said, nodding her head. Suddenly she vanished and reappeared on Tara's left side with a flash of light. "But apparently not the right one. If I can teleport, there's no reason why I shouldn't be able to grant your wish."

As she said the words Anya heard D'Hoffryn's voice, as clearly as if he were standing next to her. _"I will allow you to complete the wish, but know that it will be exactly that wish, and that all others you fulfill will be direct acts of vengeance, as is befitting one of your station."_

"Dammit!" Anya cried, throwing her arms in the air. "It's D'Hoffryn. That meddlesome old goat has put a binding on my powers. Nothing granted that isn't for vengeance. And freeing you," she began casting a sad glance on Tara.

"Would be m-mercy," the blonde finished quietly. She wanted to scream, to flail and beg to be released, to go back to Willow, to help her lover, to be safe.

"Tara, I won't leave you here like this," Anya said. She trying to be calm, that was clear, but Tara could hear her voice shaking. "You have to let me stop this. Wish it Tara, just say the words and I will end them."

There was a tiny, desperate part of her, the frightened little girl who'd spent too many days and nights locked in her father's box of pain, listening to her mother sing and weep, that wanted to do it. It would be so easy just to tell her to kill them, or to send them screaming into some horrific hell dimension. But she wasn't that little girl anymore, and Willow, her lover, the woman who'd played such a part in healing her wounded spirit, needed her to be strong. She needed Tara to help her turn back the dark tide, rising in her. _We'll right the wrongs_, Tara thought.

"Anya," she began.

"Don't even say it. You have a very expressive face. Usually its quite appealing but today it's just pissing me off." She sighed and pushed a lock of sweaty hair out of her face. "I'll go back to the Magic Box and get Buffy and Xander. They can help get you out of here."

"You have to h-hurry," Tara said, she felt a tear trickle down her cheek. "W-Warren said—"

"I heard him," Anya replied. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on Tara's cheek. "We won't let it happen, we won't let him change you."

Tara nodded, tears falling faster. "Anya," she choked, "If, if you can't stop him, you have to promise me that you won't let me hurt anyone." She saw the vengeance demon's eyes widen, as she understood what Tara was asking.

"That won't happen," Anya replied.

Tara opened her mouth to argue, to explain that this was no time for wishful thinking, but the vengeance demon just shook her head.

"That won't happen," she repeated. "I have to go now, but I'll be back," Anya promised. "I would tell you to wait right here, but that seems unintentionally cruel somehow."

Even through her pain, through her anger and fear, Tara found the strength to chuckle at her demonic friend. The laugh became a sob, and she felt Anya's arms wrap around her waist.

"You're strong, Tara," Anya murmured. "Remember that. I'll be back." There was a rush of air, of sound, as the vengeance demon teleported away.

Once again, Tara found herself alone in the darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

_Tara,_ Willow thought, her lover's name ringing in her head like a sacred chant. _Tara, Tara. Come back to me. Please be safe baby, please be well, please know that you are loved. That I love you._ _Tara_. The name was a mantra, feeding the gift of pure magic she'd been given. The mantra moved in rhythm to the sound of Xander's footsteps. _Tara._

From the moment Buffy ran out into the night after Dawn, Xander had begun to pace back and forth from the counter of the Magic Box, to the far wall, and back again. Willow watched him walk that path, over and over, without saying a word, feigning sleep. She couldn't bear the sorrow, the fear and the pity that she saw in her old friend's eyes, every time he looked at her, and so she was silent.

As minutes ticked by, Xander's pace quickened, he was crossing the distance of the shop in a few long strides. Each time he turned to face her she winced a little at the raw anxiety on his face, cinching his brow and pulling his mouth into a thin line. He turned away, strode back again, and Willow saw tears streaking down his cheeks. A hot flare of guilt spilled down into her darkness. She'd been awake, lying on her side in the yarrow circle, since Xander finished bandaging her wounds and carefully reconstructed the barrier around her. She'd been so wrapped up in her own pain that she hadn't seen his. _No more playing possum, _she thought to herself.

"Xander," Willow said softly.

The dark-haired continued to pace, chewing on the tip of his thumb. Willow pushed herself upright, gritting her teeth against the ache in her chest, her belly. She felt like she was being hollowed with a melon baller, one tiny scoop at a time. Willow pulled her knees to her chest and then wrapped her arms around them, squeezing tight.

"Xander," she repeated a bit more loudly.

He gave a little jump and stopped pacing, swiping at the tears on his cheeks and then turning toward her with a smile.

"Hey Wills," he said gently, dropping into a crouch just outside the barrier. "How ya doin'?"

Willow gave him a weak smile. "Hanging in there, Xander. Buffy and Dawn back yet?" She asked the question even though she knew the answer, trying to have some semblance of a normal conversation.

"Not yet," Xander replied. "But I'm sure they're fine," he said quickly. "Did they wake you up when they left?"

How to tell him that she'd never rested? That when he'd laid her in the circle she'd decided to meditate, to try and heal some of her wounds so she could go with them to find Tara. But the moment she'd stilled her mind and looked within, a gibbering blackness was all she found staring back at her, reaching. The effort of pushing it back was what had left her giving the illusion of trembling slumber. Eyes closed and shaking, holding to the vestiges of her vanished lover's magic, Willow Rosenberg was fighting to hold on to herself, to her soul.

"Yes," she lied, forcing a little smile onto her face. "But it's all right, I—" she began, and then she curled her hands into tight fists, nails biting her palms. Guilt again, feeding the darkness, and the dark repaid with a fresh burst of pain that set her wounds throbbing. "I was having bad dreams anyway," she finished.

"Do you need anything?" He asked, hands on his knees, poised to rise. "Water? Tea? Are you hungry?"

"Just some company would be nice," she murmured.

There was a hesitation, a little pause before he answered. For a moment Willow thought he would say no, but then he nodded. "Okay," Xander replied. He settled to the ground next to the barrier.

"Thanks," Willow whispered.

"Anything for my favorite red haired girl," Xander replied with a little smile.

They sat next to each other, separated by the thin line of yarrow stalks, in a silence that held more awkwardness than comfort.

"Xander I'm," Willow said finally. "I'm sorry about Anya."

He gave a little shrug, staring off at nothing, unfocused. "Me too. I hope that she decides to walk away from it again; I hope she can walk away again." Xander shrugged again and turned to face Willow. "But Anya's a big girl, making all her own decisions, so we don't need to worry about her. You especially don't need to worry about anything more than all the things you already have to worry about."

Willow closed her eyes at his words. Tara. Waiting for the vengeance demon's return, waiting to find out if her lover was unharmed, it was torture, plain and simple.

So," he said after a little pause. "Are you going to tell me what you were doing while you were pretending to sleep?"

"I—" Willow began. She ducked her head. "How?"

"You're a terrible liar," Xander said, with just the hint of a smile curving his lips. "Besides, there wasn't enough sleepy babbling."

"I should've thought of that," Willow replied.

"Yeah," Xander replied. "A little bit of talk about frogs or tadpoles and you totally would've had me fooled."

Willow knew that she should laugh. She let her lips part, she would chuckle, quick and soft, try to set her friend at ease. But then memory took her.

_The night of the candle, that perfect, perfect night. It'd been the third time they made love, but the first without the specter of Oz between them. When Willow woke up the next morning, warm and cradled in a deliciously soft embrace, she woke to the sound of her lover's laughter. Her lover. The one she would love, Willow knew, forever. She opened her eyes and saw Tara smiling down at her, that perfect, crooked grin. The blonde girl planted a soft kiss on her forehead, still giggling. When Willow nuzzled into her neck, asking her in a murmur what had her so happy that morning, Tara had said simply, 'Besides loving you, and you loving me? Well,' she'd teased then, 'You did bring me a very pretty candle.' Willow had protested, murmuring Tara's name in a mock pout, even as she placed a tender kiss on the silky skin of the blonde's neck. 'You talk in your sleep,' Tara admitted, running a hand down Willow's hair with a gentle reverence. 'All tadpoles and pollywogs. It's adorable. Just another reason why I love you.' And Willow had looked up, and she had seen it, seen that love, shining in her sky-blue eyes. In that moment Tara made her whole._

Willow couldn't close her mouth in time to stop the gasp. Tears welled, streamed down her face. A low, quivering sob sound was torn from Willow's throat. She took a deep and shuddering breath as she began to shake, burying her face against her knees. Willow wept openly, felt Xander's hand grip her shoulder.

"I'm sorry Will," Xander whispered. "So sorry."

Willow nodded, but couldn't stop the tears. She curled up on herself, rocking.

"We'll get her back," he murmured.

There was a rustling. Willow tensed, but before she raised her head, Willow felt Xander's arm settle around her.

"Nudge over just a bit," he said. "I don't want to break the circle."

Xander helped her slide out of the center of the circle, settling down next to her and then pressing a gentle hand to her temple, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder. He didn't say a word as she cried. He was just there, a warm presence. In his silence he spoke so clearly, reminding Willow that she wasn't alone.

"Thank you, Xander," she said after a few minutes.

"For what?" He asked with forced cheerfulness. "Making you cry your eyes out? Any time you need to be grief-stricken, I'm your man." Willow lifted her head and then allowed it to fall back against his shoulder, knocking him gently. "Just kidding, Will," he said gently. "You know me, mister 'Makes Inappropriate Jokes When He Has No Idea What To Do'. My specialty. It could even be considered a super power. A really bad one, though."

Her tears began to slow, her breathing go soft and even. She reached up to wipe tears off her cheek with a shaking hand, when Buffy and Dawn walked back into the shop, stepping carefully around the remains of the razed door.

"Hey," Buffy said, running over to kneel at the edge of the circle. "Hey Wills, you're awake." The slayer was smiling, but her eyes were bloodshot, weary.

Willow tensed for a moment, looking from Buffy to Xander, wondering if he'd tell them about her deception.

"Yeah," Xander said softly. He smiled down at Willow, giving her a little squeeze. "She's awake."

"Any word from Anya yet?" Dawn asked, walking over to stand next to her sister, arms crossed tight over her chest.

Willow shook her head. "Nothing." Her voice was a haunted whisper.

"She'll be back soon," Dawn whispered, reaching across the barrier to grasp Willow's forearm, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Everything will be okay, Willow."

"Thanks Dawnie," Willow murmured, wishing she could believe, that she felt even a hint of the certainty that she saw in the younger girl's eyes.

In that moment of fear and regret, memory burned through her. She could see it so clearly—Dawnie, backing away from her, stammering, fearing for her very existence as Willow offered to make her the Key once again. _It's time you go back to being a little energy ball. No more tears, Dawnie._

"Oh god," Willow groaned, taking the girl's hands. "I'm sorry, Dawn. I'm sorry."

"Willow?" Dawn asked, voice high and trembling.

"Will?" Buffy asked.

Willow shook her head, biting her lip to hold back the grief rising in her. At the touch of Buffy's hand Willow heard her own voice, twisted with cruelty and rage. _Oh Buffy, you really need to have every square inch of your ass kicked._

"Sorry," Willow gasped, feeling tears spill free as she looked up at the slayer. "I'm so sorry for the things I did. I don't want to hurt anyone, Buffy."

"You won't," Buffy said firmly. Dawn looked between the two of them, clearly confused, frightened.

"Willow," Dawn said. She looked at her sister. "Why is she saying these things?"

"It's because she isn't well," Xander said, squeezing Willow's shoulder. "We know, Will." When she didn't answer, didn't move her gaze from Buffy and Dawn, he shook his head. "We know you would never hurt us."

Willow look at the three of them, lingering for a moment on each face. _They really believe I would never hurt them,_ she realized. _They trust me. _She bit her lip against a sob. _Because they don't know me._ How could they trust her when she didn't trust herself?

"I don't want to," Willow whispered. "I love you guys."

"As heart-warming as the mutual reassurances must be at this point, we have to get moving," a strident voice announced.

"Anya," Willow cried, struggling to stand. Xander quickly rose and helped the slender witch to her feet. "Did you find Tara? Is she—"

"Alive," Anya interrupted, nodding. "I would say alive and well, but I don't think you'd believe me even if I did."

Willow's face crumpled. "Thank god, thank the goddess that she's alive." Her voice was ragged. "But they, they hurt her?"

"Maybe you would've believed me," Anya said softly. A strange, strained grin stretched her cheeks. "She's alive and well," Anya finished cheerfully.

Willow put her hands over her face, but not before she caught Anya shaking her head and mouthing 'not well' at Buffy and Xander and Dawn.

"Where is she?" Willow asked, wiping away tears as she slid her hands down her face.

"Abandoned warehouse complex near the outskirts of town. Gear up," she told Buffy and Xander. "We've gotta go get her, right now."

"All right," Buffy nodded. "Dawn, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on Willow."

"Is that a good idea, Buff?" Xander asked, his voice soft but urgent. "Does drawing big bads ring a bell?"

"I want to go get Tara," Dawn demanded, hands planted on her hips. "I can help, I can fight."

"We can drop them off at Spike's crypt on the way," Buffy said, clearly ignoring her sister's protests. Xander bristled and she sighed. "He won't hurt them, Xander. Who else would stand a chance against the nasties out there?"

"I don't want to go to Spike's!" Dawn thundered.

"We don't have time for this," Anya said, her voice soft and weary.

"Dawn," Buffy said, placing hand on her sister's shoulder. "You're grown, you're strong, I get that. But you're also a Scooby and right now I need you to do the right thing as a Scooby and go to the crypt with Willow."

Dawn opened her mouth as if she would argue, but then closed it again. She nodded and Buffy responded with a small, tight smile.

The exchange between her friends, her family, was a low, dull roar in Willow's ears. There was a small part of her, still swayed by logic, that understood she was a liability, injured and tainted, understood that she should stay behind. But every other fiber in her screamed in protest. How could they possibly think she would be left behind? That she would sit on the sidelines while her friends went off to rescue Tara? Even weak as she was, robbed of her magics, she could swing a sword or an axe. _Maybe a dagger, something light, something small and quick. _She could see it clearly in her mind, razor-sharp and glinting, and then slick with blood. _No_, Willow thought, shivering. _Just a threat. I don't have to use it._ Willow realized Buffy and Xander were still debating their destination.

"Dawnie," she said, softly shrugging off Xander's arm. "Whether you go or not, it's totally up to you. But I'm going to get Tara, so don't include me in the equation."

"Will—" Buffy began.

"I'm going, Buffy, no buts." There was no pout, no hint of adorable resolve face, just cool and absolute certainty. "I can help."

"Wills," Xander said kindly. "You can barely stand. You don't need to walk into a fight."

"I know you mean well, Xander," Willow replied. "But there is NO FUCKING WAY in a thousand stormy hells that I am not going with you."

"Willow—" Buffy and Dawn said simultaneously.

"Would you all just shut up?" Anya screamed. "I've said this once already. We. Don't. Have. Time. We need to go, now." The vengeance demon reached out and took Willow's hand. "And if you love Tara, you'll sit this one out, Willow. You're going to slow us down."

"I won't," Willow protested. "I'm coming."

Anya shook her head. "Whatever. We need to go now. We're running out of time."

The demon gave in so quickly that Willow made a noise of protest before she could stop herself. She felt the indignation in her twist, shift into a cold wash of fear. Anya wasn't being pushy, impatient, or stubborn, she realized. Anya was terrified.

"What did they do to her?" Willow cried, surging forward. Her fall was stopped only by Xander's firm grip on the back of her shirt.

"Willow, what—" Xander said.

"What did they do to her?" Willow demanded again. Anya cringed.

"It's not what they've done, though what they've done isn't great," she babbled. "Hanging and chains, so medieval, but nothing that won't heal."

"Anya!" Buffy said, exasperation clear in her voice.

"It's what they're going to do," the vengeance demon said.

"What," Willow said, pleading, begging, while in the same moment she prayed Anya wouldn't answer, stiff with terror at the thought of what the trio had planned for her lover. When she spoke again it was in a whisper. "What are they going to do?"

"They're going to change her," Anya said sadly.

No one moved. The only sound Willow could hear was her own pulse, pounding in her ears. Change her. They were going to change her.

"So," Buffy said tentatively, after more than a minute had passed, "Are they going to make her a demon? Like Raines did to Giles? Cause we can fix that. Right Will? Will?"

Willow shook her head. "Not the body? Right, Anya?" She asked softly. "What would they gain from changing what she looks like?"

"Tara's beautiful," Dawn murmured.

"She is, isn't she Dawnie?" Willow smiled, even as her guts twisted, as her eyes glistened with tears. "That's why, isn't it Anya? Her beauty and her power. That's why."

"That's why they're going to change who she is," Anya agreed. "Change her mind. What makes her Tara. Unless we stop them."

"Why?" Dawnie asked.

"It's Mears. He wants Tara to obey him." Anya paused. "He wants her to love him."

_Not again_, Willow thought. _I won't let it happen again. _She could see it so clearly. Her Tara, left shattered and broken after Glory plundered her mind, crying out, striking out, muddled and confused as a toddler lost in the dark. Willow had fed her, dressed her, bathed her, cleaned up after the accidents. For months after her restoration, Tara had put on a brave face for the Scoobies, helping to hold things together after Buffy's death. Only Willow had known about the night terrors, Tara waking with whimpers, screams, and begging. Only Willow had been able to calm her, comfort her, ease her back into sleep. _My fault, _Willow thought. _I was so ugly with her. And then I wasn't there to save her._

And now Mears wanted to do something worse. For the longest time Willow had believed that there was nothing worse than what Glory had done, not even death. But now? If he succeeded, Warren would wipe her soul mate's slate clean. Tara would exist in the world, she would live, her body would live, but everything that made her Tara would be gone. And no way to pull it back. _My fault_, Willow thought. _Tainted myself. Broke myself. I couldn't save her. _In her despair, the light of Tara's magic flickered, faded. And the fear, the panic, that had become her constant companions were swallowed up by a great, dark, bestial rage.

Willow was bent backward with the force of the inhuman shriek torn from her throat. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, moaning and grunting, panting for breath. The dark power inside her crackled and surged, snaking through her veins, riding the impulse of each synapse firing in her brain. _Kill them before that happens,_ Willow thought. Did she think it? Or was the thought driven into her mind? She felt her shoulders shake, her lungs compress, her body shake with frantic laughter that dissolved back into screams. _Won't kill them,_ she told her traitorous brain. _I have to right the wrongs._ _But that they exist, that's wrong, isn't it? Maybe their death is the answer._

"Can't kill them, can't kill them," Willow whimpered over and over, staring down at the translucently pale flesh of her arms, her hands. She imagined she could see every blood vessel.

"We aren't going to kill anyone, Will," Buffy said solemnly. "We're just going to save Tara."

"And what if they've already taken her mind, you stupid bitch?" Willow snarled. "What if there's no Tara to save?"

Buffy's eyes widened with shock.

Willow pounded against the darkening corners of her own mind, scrabbling at the walls of her awareness. Like a failing swimmer she was drowning in her own body, being pulled down into nothingness.

"So sorry," Willow gasped, her face crumpling as she cried out again.

Even as she felt herself vanishing, creeping into blackness, her eyes took in a world of light. All the connections, all the cohesions of atom and magic holding the building together, holding her friends together, each microscopic piece of matter, glowed. And a part of her thought how easy it would be, just the right word, the right gesture, to break those bonds. Everything around her would collapse in a pile of sparkling dust. _ It would be so pretty_. It was her voice, echoing, but flat. It was death, talking with her mind, and it would use her lips, and it would use her hands, and everything she loved would be gone.

"Get out," Willow groaned, staring down at the floor. She heard movement, coming closer, not moving farther away. "You have to get out," she sobbed. "You have to go."

"We've got you Willow," Xander said. She could feel the warm pressure of his hand on the crown of her head. "We won't let anything happen to Tara. Let's go get her, Willow." His voice was shaking.

"You can't help me," Willow gasped. "It has me."

"Oh shit," Anya murmured, backing a few steps away.

"Go!" Willow screamed, feeling the power inside her burn up through the stratum, all the layers of her flesh, charring her skin. A wave of blue-black energy pulsed around her, knocked the Scoobies flying. The force of it pulled her to her feet, rocking and wobbling.

"Go," Willow groaned.

Anya was the only one left standing, clutching the bookshelf she'd been knocked in to. Buffy was helping Dawn up, checking her sister for injuries. Xander was lying flat on his back, unmoving. He spoke to her from the floor.

"We're not going anywhere, Will," he said firmly. He shifted to the side as if he were going to role over but gave a little gasp of pain and settled back on to his back. "We're here. Let us help you."

"There's no one here with the power to stop me now," Willow cried, gritting her teeth as she fought the darkness rising in her. _Tara, baby, help me. Please, don't let me hurt them. I don't want to hurt them._ But Tara wasn't there.

When the energy hit her, sent her spinning through the air to crash to the floor on the far side of the Magic Box, Buffy, Xander and Dawn all cried out. Willow felt her impact on the hard tile burn through her tendons, her muscle, down to the bone, but all she felt was relief. The darkness in her gut recoiled from the magic crackling through her body, burrowing down, hiding. Even as her eyes rolled back in her head, she laughed. _He's here. _The last thing she heard was his voice, so clear and stern.

"I'd like to test that theory," Giles said.

The sound of the door sliding open woke her, pulled her back into swaying nausea and pain. She strained into the darkness, trying to make out some hint of movement, but the black was absolute. There was a muffled patter of steps, starting and then stopping after just a few moments, a quiet and furtive movement.

"Anya?" Tara whispered. There wasn't any answer and she swallowed thickly. It wasn't Mears, standing there in the dark. She knew it, could feel it. The steps were too soft; there was no trace of his menace, the stench of his egoism, his certainty.

"Buffy?" She asked, a little louder. There was the faint sound of her voice, echoing.

Still no answer. After another brief burst of shuffling Tara's eyes widened. She could feel her heart beat faster. When she spoke again, her voice was trembling, strained.

"W-Willow? Baby?"

"Keep it down." It was a man, but the voice was higher, more nasal. It wasn't Mears, not whiny enough for the blonde one.

"Jonathan?" Tara asked.

"Quiet," he said in an urgent whisper. "I've got the wire taps and the cameras shut off, but our voices could carry."

"What do you want, Jonathan?" Tara murmured.

"I—" he paused. "I wanted to warn you." A light flared.

Tara looked down at Jonathan; he was staring up at her with a flashlight pointed under his chin. Part of her wanted to laugh at him, at the ridiculousness of the situation, but she knew if she started she wouldn't be able to stop.

"Warn me or tell me ghost stories?"

Jonathan's eyes flickered to the flashlight and back up again. "This isn't a laughing matter. If the demon comes back, you have to tell her to go."

They knew. They knew that Anya had been there. "How—" she began.

"He told you the place was wired, what did you think, he was kidding?" Jonathan shook his head, a blur in the orange-tinged glow from the flashlight. "There are more bugs in this place than the White House. And there are night-vision cameras set up in a panoramic 360 view. He can see and hear everything that goes on in here. Do you understand?"

"Why are you telling me this?" Tara was hurting, exhausted. "No more games. I'm too tired for games."

"I erased the footage, replaced it with a loop, but I can't risk it another time. Andrew's hovering."

He was speaking so low, so quickly, that Tara was having difficulty following the patterns of his speech. Her eyes drooped and then snapped open when he began to speak again.

"If he knows they've found us, found you, I don't know what he'll do." There was a quaver in his voice.

_Afraid,_ Tara realized. _He's scared of Mears_. "Jonathan," she whispered, hope the dim flutter of a sparrow's wings in her chest. "Jonathan, I know what he's going to try to do." Guilt flickered across the small man's face. "You know what he's capable of."

"I do," Jonathan whimpered.

"Then you have to help me get out of here. Please, Jonathan, let me go."

He stared up at her, doe-eyed, and seconds ticked away. He opened his mouth, closed it. He reached out to her, and for a moment Tara thought that he would do it, that Jonathan would loosen her chains and she would leave that place. She would go back to Willow. But then Jonathan dropped his hands, shook his head.

"I can't," he replied. "Warren is out of his mind. He'll kill me if he even suspects that I might be thinking of defying his rule," Jonathan spit bitterly.

Tara felt her eyes well. "The Scoobies will protect you," she pleaded.

"How can they do that?" Jonathan asked, barking with laughter. "They're dead, or dying, remember? And even if they weren't, they couldn't keep you safe. How would they keep me safe?"

"I know they're not dead, Jonathan," Tara replied, solemn.

He forced another laugh, but his eyes darted nervously. "Do you know the odds of successfully escaping the binding blood? About the same as the Millennium Falcon clearing that asteroid field." His voice was squeaking, breath coming in a quick pant.

"I know what you did," Tara said simply.

"What?" Jonathan yipped. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're wringing your hands like a little rat, and you won't look me in the eye," Tara said wearily. "Lying 101. I heard you," she continued, willing her voice to be steady, without a stammer, as she prepared to out and out lie to the man. "I heard you cast the fracture spell."

Even in the dim light cast by the flashlight she could see the color drain from Jonathan's face. "You c-can't," he stammered. "You can't tell Warren, or I'm dead."

"All you have to do is get me out of here," Tara said, and Jonathan squirmed under her gaze. "Get me out of here and we'll both be safe."

"I can't," Jonathan hissed. Tears welled in his eyes and Tara wondered if her captor was actually going to weep. "And you can't say anything. If you tell him, if you tell Warren, it will be like you killed me with your own two hands."

"Jonathan—"

"I have to go," he said, backing away from her.

"No, don't, don't go," Tara's voice hitched in her throat, a tear spilling down one alabaster cheek.

"They can see everything," the man whimpered. "He can see everything."

The light of the flashlight he carried was like a little lifeline, stretched tighter and tighter the farther he went, until finally there was just a tiny glow, like a candle flickering, out in the dark. When the light snapped off Tara couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

"Don't leave me here," she begged. "Don't leave me in the dark. Ah goddess," she cried. "Help me. Please." The last word she spoke before the sobs robbed her of her voice was a choked whisper. "Willow."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Willow slid to a stop, head lolling against the tiled floor. Buffy was the first to her feet. She ran over to the slender witch, shaking her shoulders.

"Wills," she said tearfully. "Willow, wake up." There was no response from the redhead.

"Be careful, Buffy," Giles said, stepping into the shop. "It won't be long before she recovers."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Buffy cried, pulling Willow's unconscious form against her. "What did you do to her?"

"It's a simple suppression," the watcher replied. He reached toward his face like he was going to pull off his glasses, but encountered only the bridge of his own nose. "It's going to take a lot more than that to stop her, but she should be stable for a while."

"She's unconscious," Xander said, struggling to his feet. "How stable is that?"

"Yeah?" Dawn asked, scowling.

"I think we should give him a break," Anya said softly. "Giles did what had to be done."

Buffy and Xander sputtered and Giles just stared at the ex-demon. "Well, thank you Anya," he said finally.

But Willow was awake, she heard every word as she screamed and pounded futilely in the prison of her own mind, watching as tainted power coiled up again, spread through her body, her essence, like smoke rising from a fire. _Listen to him,_ she thought, desperate. _Get away, get away._

"Anya," Xander said slowly, "Giles attacked Willow. Giles bad."

"Giles stopped her from hurting us all, Xander," Anya drawled. "Giles good."

Willow howled from her prison as the darkness in her moved, pulling her feet, every tendon and muscle tensed so tight Willow felt like her limbs would snap. She felt her head loll up, and then her eyes opened and she was watching them all, the fear so clear and painful on Buffy and Xander's faces, the drawn distance of Giles' disappointment.

"Stay down," Giles said. He moved his hand and Willow was thrown back to the floor.

"Giles," Xander fumed. He took a step toward Willow.

"No, Xander," Giles said, his voice hard, cold.

"I'm going to help Willow, and you're not going to stop me." Xander clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides.

"I don't want us to fight," Buffy said, stepping between the men with her hands raised. "It won't do us any good. It won't do Willow any good."

A moan was torn from the redheaded witch as she was pulled to her feet again. Giles waved his hand, repeated his early command to _stay down_, but Willow felt the binding spell pulse through her and instantly dissipate. _Goddess no, _Willow begged silently as she felt her mouth curl in a leering grin. Before her body could take a step, Giles raised his hand and a pool of liquid-green light surged from his palm.

"Vincere," he intoned.

Willow was surrounded by the energy. It formed a thick band, locking her arms to her side. As soon as the circle was complete her body began to buck wildly as the dark magics fought repression. The darkness was pushed back, back, until it burrowed in her gut again, waiting for her weakness, for her wrath.

_Thank the goddess, _she thought, letting her body relax, her head dropping back as she was lifted from the ground.

"Giles, what did you do?" Buffy breathed.

"Contained her, and her powers, within a binding field," he said softly, watching Willow float. "It puts her in a kind of stasis for the time—" he broke off, glancing at Buffy. "You cut your hair."

Buffy's mouth dropped open. "You just attacked Willow and put her in stasis like a Star Trek villain and you're asking me about my hair?"

Giles shook his head and walked across the room toward Willow. When he drew alongside her, he spoke in a near whisper. "I'm very sorry about Tara."

"How do you know about that?" Buffy asked. "Xander?" She asked accusingly, turning toward the dark-haired man.

"I promise," he said, holding up his hands, "I didn't leave any details in that voicemail. I just told him to call us."

"The Devon coven sensed the rise of a dangerous magical force in Sunnydale," Giles said, never taking his eyes off of Willow. "A dark force, fueled by grief. I'd so hoped it wasn't her, and then a seer in the coven told me about Tara."

"They had a vision of her kidnapping?" Anya asked.

Giles' eyes widened. He stammered for a moment, and then turned to Buffy. "Kidnapped? The seer saw Tara shot, she saw Tara die." When Buffy shook her head a broad smile spread across the watcher's face. "Then she's alive?"

"Missing," Buffy said, "But yes, alive."

The smile on his face faded as he turned back toward Willow. "Then why?" He began.

"How about we explain after make with the letting Willow out of that creepy force field thing?" Xander asked.

"Of course," Giles murmured. He raised his hand, but before he could speak Willow forced her eyes open, rolling her head to look at the watcher.

"Don't," she pleaded, her voice raw and broken, a gravelly whisper. "It's the only thing…stopping me." She prayed that he would listen, that he would understand. "Even this…won't hold me…forever."

It wasn't a threat. It was a warning.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

"Willow?" Giles breathed. He reached out and laid a gentle hand against her cheek. "What's happened to you?"

She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see the worry, the fear, creasing his brow, wished that she could stop herself from hearing the tremor in his voice, so clear even though the watcher tried to hide it.

_Tired,_ Willow thought. _I'm so tired._ Every inch of her burned and ached, she could feel each tendon, muscle, and ligament, the stretch of cartilage, with each breath that she forced in an out of her body. There wasn't strength for words.

"Is she sleeping?" Dawn's voice was soft, so high and tearful.

"I don't know," Giles replied, moving his hand from Willow's cheek to run gently down her hair. "The binding will have…weakened her."

"Is it hurting her?" Buffy asked loudly.

Willow winced. The little slayer sounded angry. She heard her best friend stomping closer.

"She made a face," Buffy continued accusingly. "Is this Vincent Price shield thing hurting her, Giles?"

"Vincere," the watcher replied. "I don't know. I wish I could say I did, but I don't. This is old magic, Buffy. I've never seen any accounts from—"

He trailed off and the Magic Box was quiet for a moment. Willow could hear the hum of the Vincere spell as it shifted and warped, countering her darkness. Finally Buffy spoke again.

"Any accounts from what? From what, Giles?"

"Survivors," he admitted with a heavy sigh.

"It's killing her?" Buffy's voice cracked as she shouted, "Take it off of her, turn it off, right now."

"It's not killing her," Anya said sharply. "Survivors didn't write accounts because Vincere was used for dark magic users, to hold them until they could be executed."

"Is that why you're here?" Dawn's voice shook. "Giles, did you come home to kill Willow?"

Willow fluttered her eyes open long enough to get a glimpse of Giles, saw the worn defeat in his face. They drifted closed again under a wave of pure exhaustion, but when he spoke his voice was a perfect echo of his stricken features.

"I've come here to help her," Giles replied softly. "To save her. But if she's gone to far—"

_If I've gone too far, _Willow thought, _no coming back, then he'll have to. He'll have to kill me. _A part of her was relieved to know it, to know that there was someone who could stop her if she lost control.

"That's not gonna happen," Buffy growled.

"Of course it's not going to happen," Xander said, throwing his arms in the air. "Let's stop with the crazy talk and all the craziness because it's going to make me—" The dark-haired man broke off and shook his head. "Repetitive apparently. Look," he said, gesturing between Buffy and Giles. "Let's just talk this out. I would say sit and talk this out, but there's only one chair left that isn't broken."

"Xander," Giles said, pushing up his glasses. "I know you want to help, I know you all want to help," he said, letting his gaze drift over Dawn, Buffy, and Anya, "But I don't think you understand the severity, the danger, of what's happening here. With the dark magic Willow has channeled—"

"Wrong," Anya said flatly.

"Anya, the damage is clear—" Giles began.

Willow felt her lip tremble even as she tried to keep her face neutral. The damage. She was damaged goods now, and maybe this time she would never be mended. Maybe this time she was broken for good. But how would the debt be repaid?

"You say that you're a smart man, Giles, and usually I agree. But really," Anya drawled. "Can't you tell the difference between channeling and invasion? She's fighting it, fighting that darkness and it's tearing her to pieces. How can you not see that?"

"There's some big mojo going on," Xander said. "When Tara told us that she'd died—"

"What?" Giles's voice rang through the shop. "You told me Tara was kidnapped. Are you saying that she died, that Willow resurrected her? Tapping into the rite of Osiris again could very well have caused this—"

"All right," Buffy said, sighing. "I think we need to establish a new rule that we aren't going to interrupt each other anymore." She paused. "Except for me interrupting you just then, Giles, that had to happen because you don't have a clue about what's going on."

"Well thank you for bringing order to the chaos," the watcher replied wryly.

"No interrupting!" Buffy fumed. "Now look, this morning Warren Mears tried to kill me. He shot me. I'm fine," she said, holding up a hand as her watcher's eyes widened with concern. "Tara told us, afterwards, that Willow knew what was going to happen and so she changed it, that Willow kept her from getting shot. You can ask a question now," she said with a wry grin, spotting Giles's classic look of consternation.

"How did she know?" He asked simply.

"Because," Buffy said, taking a deep breath. "The first time it happened, Willow couldn't stop it, and Tara died."

"The first time?" Giles asked. "What do you mean, the first time?"

"It's the mojo," Xander insisted. "Some rite."

"But it's not dark magic," Buffy insisted. "Willow stopped it, the rite stopped it from ever happening."

"We checked and double checked the texts, and definitely not dark magic," Anya said. She rolled her eyes as Buffy huffed. "Sorry for interrupting with vital supporting data."

"And the name of this rite?" Giles asked.

Willow forced her eyes open, struggled to turn her head so she could catch Giles' eye, even as she tried not to feel guilt at the worried stares the rest of the Scoobies turned on her when she moved.

"Ter Sis Animi," she choked.

"That isn't possible," Giles breathed. His footsteps echoed on the tile floor of the Magic Box as he began to pace, staring down at the floor. "That's a purely legendary ritual."

"Yeah, cause no legendary stuff around this Hellmouth, nuh-uh," Buffy grumbled.

"True," Willow gasped. She felt a tear slip down each cheek; every word she spoke burned her raw throat, but she had to make him understand. "Giles, it's true."

The watcher lifted his head and turned to look at her, and the weight of his gaze left Willow feeling totally exposed. There was a hardness there, an anger and suspicion, and she knew its name, _Ripper. _ He could see her. He could see her guilt and her grief, her darkness, because he lived with his own. _But please see past it, _Willow thought as she choked on a sob. _See me Giles. See me._

And then he froze, still staring. He didn't even blink. Willow could feel a wail building in her, an aching pressure made all the worse because she couldn't give it voice, just another layer of pressure added to the weight on her chest. _Giles._ In the moment she thought it, the watcher's face transformed. His eyes widened, softened, and the smallest hint of a smile curled his mouth.

"Willow," Giles said softly.

"Hi Giles," she breathed.

The rest of the Scoobies watched this exchange in perfect silence. Giles nodded at her and then turned and walked past the counter, trailing his hand along the empty shelves until he came to a row filled with thin hardbound volumes. He ran a slow and careful finger down the spine of each text, lips moving as he murmured to himself. Finally his hand lingered on a book with a cloth cover of faded burgundy. His hand moved over text once, twice, and then he slid the book from the shelf, opened it, and began to read.

After a few minutes of silence, of the watcher lost in the slender book, Xander began to fidget. Before he could move or speak Anya elbowed him in the side, shaking her head. Buffy rolled her eyes at them and Dawn, Dawn almost smiled before she shook her head and went back to staring at her own tightly crossed arms. For a moment, Willow could almost pretend that things we're normal, that they'd all gathered together to hear the latest bout of exposition. Almost.

She blinked back fresh tears as Giles cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

"Ancient records, fragmented and rife with figments, speak of a rite said to have existed since before time itself was known or measured. This rite they speak of, practiced in more than a dozen cultures, is known now only by its Latin name, Ter Sis Animi, _The Wish of Three Hearts_, because its true name has been lost to age and the fallibility of man's memory."

Giles took a breath and pushed his glasses up farther on his nose. "It is said that this rite has been lost to the world because the gods no longer walk among man. Those with the power to call forth the rite have dwindled, leaving only myth and lore. It is to memory that the Ter Sis Animi must be consigned." With that Giles snapped the book closed and looked at them expectantly.

"That was a pleasantly dramatic reading, Giles," Anya said, nodding her head. "But what did it actually say?

"Those old scribe guys were quite the ramblers." Xander agreed.

Giles gave a little sigh, gesturing toward the book. "The Ter Sis Animi was a rite that required immense power for its fulfillment, not merely from one being, but from three. We are talking about a power beyond mortal comprehension."

"So, kind of like the power of a slayer?" Buffy asked.

Giles gaped for a moment but then recovered, slowly closing his mouth and nodding. "I suppose that's possible, but—"

Dawn stepped up next to her sister with her hands firmly planted on her hips. "And how about the power of a girl who used to be a magical key between dimensions?"

The watcher pulled off his glasses, realized he couldn't clean them and hold on to his text, and so he slipped them back on again. "And the third?"

Xander walked across the magic box and held his arms out with a flourish. "How about one of the most powerful Wicca in the western hemisphere?"

Giles looked around at them, sighed, and then snapped the book shut. "For an allegedly intelligent man I can be very foolish at times," he murmured. "Thank you all for making it so painfully obvious."

"It's a gift," Buffy replied.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In a strange way the darkness had become a gift. As she strained into it, searching for signs of light, of movement, there were occasional burst of swirling color. It was comforting somehow, even though she knew it was just her retina throwing off flares. It distracted her, kept her from being frightened, even though there were so many things to be frightened of. Anya gone. Jonathan too frightened to help her. But the one fear she buried, again and again, was her hands. Tara was afraid to see her hands. After hours of hanging, she wondered what damage had been done because of the restricted blood flow. Pins and needles were beginning to lessen when she moved, and she missed the pain. The thought of never being able to touch Willow with a caress, to feel the red head's silken skin under her fingertips, it was enough to set her crying, again, but in the dark she could just pretend it wasn't happening, that she'd just woken up from a terrible dream, instead of living one.

"Wicca, heal thyself," Tara murmured. She'd tried twice before to levitate, to give her body some relief from the tension on her shoulders and back, only to feel that terrible, raw ache lance through her head. But her fear at the pain of using her overtaxed magic was being overshadowed by her fear of the damage being done to her body.

"Time again," she whispered. Tara closed her eyes against the pitch-blackness of her prison made a silent prayer to the goddess, for blessing and strength.

Tara made a soft noise, half way between a laugh and a sob, when she felt the crackle, the heat of her power coursing through her body. She focused and rose a few inches in the air, just enough to take the strain of her weight off of her arms. The slightest hiss was the only sign she gave of the pain of blood pounding up her wrists into her hands. After a moment they began to tingle and burn and she cried with relief, slowly and carefully bending and stretching fingers that felt swollen and stiff, taught-skinned.

Still stretching, she let herself relax into the levitation, rising higher so that her shoulders could drop, easing the ache there. There still wasn't any pain from her magic use, and so Tara decided she would try calling forth a wisp, one of the little sparkles Willow called her Tinkerbelle lights. _Willow_, Tara thought. She cast aside her though of Tinkerbelle lights and took a deep, calming breath and focused all her intent on her love. Tara knew if she could just hear Willow's voice, even for a moment—but when Tara reached out, there was nothing there.

There wasn't a block in her magic, no striving and failing to reach. There was just nothing. Tara reached with her mind, feeling for any stirrings or echoes that would pulse with the energy of Willow's mind, would let her know that her love was all right even if she was pushed past the boundary of unconsciousness or sleep. Again, she felt her questing stopped, blocked as surely as if a wall had been set in her path. Where her love should be, waiting to be comforted, to comfort, there was nothing.

"Oh goddess," Tara groaned against a swiftly rising dread. _Willow. _What had happened to Willow?The thought that her lover was lost to her, was…gone, was incomprehensible. Panic squeezed Tara's chest like a giant fist. _No. _She told herself. _Not gone, I would know. _She took a deep and shaking breath, trying to find some semblance of calm. _ I have to get out of here. I have to get to Willow._

"Light," she called. A whirling, three-lobed wisp glimmered for a moment, but then flared bright and died, leaving her back in the dark before she had a chance to get any sense of her bearings. Tara felt a stab of pain in her temple and gritted her teeth. "Light," she repeated.

Another bundle of tiny globes appeared, floating in front of her eyes, leaving her wincing against a soft glow that swirled from gold to blue and back again.

"Follow," she said softly, willing the light to travel the path of the chain. At her bidding the wisp floated upward, illuminating each fat and rusted link of the chain that held her, drifting up toward the ceiling. The light would show her how the chain was held fast, and once she knew, she would use the magics to break that tie. Pain or no pain, somehow she would get free.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"And the manual labor situation has been handled?" Warren asked, spinning around in an old office chair.

Jonathan winced at the squeal of rusted metal as the chair turned and turned. Andrew seemed oblivious to the unpleasant sound; sitting perched on a rickety wooden stool, as close as he could be to Warren, just outside the range of the kicks he made as he spun around.

"Check, check, and check," Andrew replied happily. The blond was clutching a legal pad toward his chest, curled over it intently; going over the list of items they would need for the spell.

The spell. Jonathan grimaced. He could still hear Tara's voice, the ragged desperation as the woman begged him not to leave her in the dark.

"What's the matter friend? You don't look happy."

Jonathan turned to find the Warren-bot standing right next to him, a grin stretching his features disturbingly. The blond hair on the robot's head was shifted, leaving an odd swath of too-perfect pink skin exposed.

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

"Are you sure about that?" Warren asked, dropping his feet to drag himself to a halt. He was smiling too, Jonathan had to repress a shudder—the real Warren's grin was much more disturbing. "Mr. Handsome over there's right. You're looking kind of down in the dumps."

"I'm just concentrating on the spell," Jonathan replied, gesturing down to the book in his lap."

"You do that," Warren said, nodding. "Everything's gotta go right the first time, no retries, folks." He kicked off into a quick spin and clapped his hands together. "Transportation?"

"Again, check," Andrew beamed. "Two-for-one trip there." He pointed out the tiny, dust crusted window of the abandoned warehouse's office space. A large black hearse was parked outside the building. "I still don't know how a funeral parlor could ever go out of business in Sunnydale."

"Probably all the morticians dying of 'spontaneous neck ruptures'," Jonathan drawled, making finger quotes. "Funerals are a tough business when your customers don't stay dead."

"And how are we on the spell components to prep the site?" Warren asked, ignoring Jonathan's comment.

"We have just the right amount for every ingredient," Andrew chirruped. "So components should not be an issue." He drew another check on his notepad.

"Shouldn't be?" Warren said sharply, slamming his feet to the floor.

"Won't be," Andrew corrected quickly, flashing a nervous grin. "Won't be a problem, not at all."

Jonathan lowered his eyes back down to the spell book in his hands as Warren nodded grimly and began to spin in his chair again. Jonathan stared at the words on the page but couldn't bear to read them, trying to stave off his sense of complicity as long as he possibly could.

"And you're sure you're ready with your part of the preparations?" Warren asked Andrew. "There won't be any problems with that spell?"

"I'm totally ready," Andrew said.

There was a thumping sound and Jonathan looked up. The blond had dropped in notebook and was practically bouncing up and down on his seat. He was grinning, blushing under the broad smile that Warren had trained on him. Jonathan swallowed a groan and rolled his eyes, gazing back down at his book.

"It's easy," Andrew continued. "So easy, even Jonathan could do it." He broke into nasal laughter and Warren gave a deep chuckle.

"What about you, little man?" Warren asked. "You ready to go?"

Jonathan slowly looked up to meet Warren's eye. "I have it under control," he replied softly. "But the more I look over it the better off we'll be, so how about letting me get back to that?"

Warren's eyes narrowed for a moment but then he just laughed again. "Sure thing, sure thing. You get back to that and I," he said, spinning toward the monitor behind him. "Will get back to this. Hello, Tara-cam," he said happily. There was a moment's silence and then the dark-haired man giggled.

Jonathan froze, praying that he hadn't heard what he thought he'd heard, a weird, high-pitched, childlike little giggle coming from Warren Mears. There was a pause, and then Warren giggled again. Now he was going from creepy to just down right disturbing. Jonathan kept his eyes glued to the book; he didn't want to see anything that brought Mears such odd pleasure.

"Would you look at that?" Warren said, bemused.

Andrew gave a little gasp and Jonathan couldn't resist, he glanced at monitor and saw Tara levitating, clenching and stretching her hands, bending and straightening her arms, as an object that flared bright-white on the night vision cameras rolled down the chain she was fastened to.

"She's impressive, isn't she?" Warren asked, moving closer to the monitor screen. "That's got to hurt like the dickens."

"Shouldn't we stop her?" Andrew asked.

"Nah," Warren said, turning toward the blond with a grin. "Let her tire herself out. It's not like she's got enough juice to get anywhere."

Jonathan held up a shaking hand between Warren and Andrew's faces, point toward the monitor. "Do you mean like that?"

Tara was floating toward the floor; eyes closed and face flawlessly serene. The bright ball of light had vanished as quickly as it appeared. Jonathan tensed, waiting for the inevitable explosion of temper, the cursing, but to his great surprise, Warren just started laughing again.

"See?" He said joyfully, "I told you she was impressive. Andrew, you keep going with the preparation checklist," Warren said, standing and patting him on the back. "And Jonathan you keep practicing that spell. I'll be right back."

Warren stood and moved over to the desk, rummaging around in the bottom drawer until he made a little noise of triumph and pulled out his hand, clutching a thin wafer of metal that he quickly shoved into this pocket. With that done, the dark-haired man walked out of the room, still laughing. As soon as he was out of sight Andrew slumped down on his stool, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

I'm glad that Warren thinks this is so funny," he mumbled.

Jonathan was surprised by the tremor in the boy's voice. "Can I ask you something, Andrew?" He said it quickly, throwing caution to the wind. "Are you really okay with what Warren is planning to do to Tara?"

At Jonathan's words Andrew sat up ramrod straight, cramming his fists even more tightly under his arms. "Warren knows what he's doing. If he wants a toy, he'll have one." The tall boy's voice was vicious, laced with bitterness.

"Is that what you really think this is?" Jonathan asked it softly, kindly. He put his book down on the battered desk next to him and walked over to sit in Warren's abandoned chair. "You've seen how he looks at her. You've seen the video feed."

Jonathan reached out a pressed a button, slowly spinning a knob counter-clockwise until he saw what he was looking for. He hit the button again and there was Warren, snarling into Tara's face, telling her that she would love him.

"Warren doesn't want her for a toy. This isn't another stupid game, Andrew."

Andrew's face slowly reddened as he stared at the monitor. He turned to look at Jonathan, teary-eyed. "Shut up," he said dully.

"We can't just," Jonathan protested.

"I said shut up!" Andrew hissed hysterically, wide-eyed. "Just stop talking. You have a spell to read."

Jonathan opened his mouth to protest, and then slowly shut it again. "Yeah, all right," he said finally, moving back to his chair. "I freaked for a minute. Its just nerves." Jonathan picked his book back up and held it in front of his face, closing his eyes against a sudden swell of tears. "I'm sure you're right, Andrew."

Hidden behind the book, Jonathan didn't see Andrew mute the monitor and replay the scene of Warren demanding Tara's love a second time, then a third.

"I'm right," the blond man said in a small voice.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Upon realizing that the Ter Sis Animi had truly been invoked in his lifetime, Giles took the Scoobies back through the events of the day, questioning them again and again. He took in the details of Tara's survival, Buffy's healing, and Rack's attack and defeat at Tara's hands with nods and more questions, punctuated by stretches of stony silence. Buffy, Xander, and Anya told him about the attack of the Araucaria demon, and Tara's subsequent kidnapping. When he learned the details of the actions Willow had taken in her former life he went haggard and pale, hands trembling. He hid them in his pockets, but not before the red haired witch saw the physical manifestation of his shock, his disappointment.

"What are you thinking about?" Buffy asked softly.

Willow dreaded his answer. The watcher didn't answer at first, just stared around the shop, but after a moment he nodded.

"Araucaria sap is a rare and very valuable spell component," he replied to his slayer. "Anya, you should collect as much of it as you can, we'll need to store it in airtight containers."

The vengeance demon gave a happy squeak and grabbed a paper bag from behind the counter, tucking the straps over one hand as she ran around picking up chunks of sap with the other.

Buffy's mouth fell open. "That's it? We tell you about the return of a legendary rite, about battles and mayhem and kidnappings, and all you're worried about is the selling price on some chunks of dried up demon blood?"

When Giles spoke again there was no change in his poster or expression, but his voice sounded tired, sounded old. "Buffy, the blood of the Araucaria demon, when mixed with a few other ingredients, becomes a powerful healing salve. I'm hoping, once we find Tara, she'll be able to use it to help with Willow's injuries. It should prevent scarring."

"Oh," Buffy's voice was tiny, barely audible over Anya's happy humming.

"You should thank Giles, Buffy," the vengeance demon said, grabbing another chunk of the resin. "Now you don't have to feel guilty for pulling off so much of Willow's skin."

Xander opened his mouth; brow furrowed, but didn't say a word because Buffy laid a gentle hand on his arm, shaking her head.

"Thank you, Giles," the slayer said sincerely. "I'm glad we can at least help her with that."

"Of course," he replied.

"Have to go," Willow breathed, watching Xander and Dawn bend to work collecting chunks of amber. They made short work of it. In under a minute Anya was stuffing the remains into a large glass jar with a rubberized seal.

"What Will?" Buffy asked, drawing close.

"Tara," she croaked. "We have to go." Her eyes drifted shut, breathing quick and reedy.

"She's right," Anya said, walking up to them, wringing her hands. She gave Giles a light slap on the arm. "You distracted me with talk of money and profits watcher man. There's no time for that. We need to go get Tara."

"Can we move her?" Buffy whispered, nodding toward Willow.

"The Vincere should hold," Giles murmured in reply. "We'll have to take the chance, it would be dangerous to leave her in one place for too long. She might…draw things to her power."

"Told you," Anya said smugly.

"Congratulations, Anya," Buffy said sardonically.

Giles never took his eyes off of Willow, staring intently at her slack face as she hung in the air. There was a tightness around his mouth, his eyes, that Buffy hadn't seen since Jenny Calendar's funeral.

"What is it?" She asked, taking his arm and pulling him away from Anya and Willow. "What aren't you telling us?"

Giles gently extracted his arm from Buffy's hand. "Don't we have quite enough to be worried about around here?" He whispered. "Not to mention what Anya says that Mears fellow has planned for poor Tara."

"But that's not it, is it?" Buffy insisted. "There's something else." He stared at her and she sighed. "I can hear your heart pounding, Rupert Giles." When she spoke again it was around gritted teeth. "Fess up."

This time Giles reached out for Buffy's arm, steering her toward the doorway of the Magic Box. He looked over his shoulder told the others that they'd be right back, and then pulled her outside. They stood there in the dark, watching in each other, the approaching sunrise just a purple-grey hint on the horizon.

"The Ter Sis Animi is a more powerful magic than we've ever encountered before, Buffy."

She rolled her eyes. "Giles, we've—"

"More powerful than the Master, more powerful than Glory, more powerful even than the rite used to return you to the world," he interrupted. "This is larger than any of us can imagine."

"And?" Buffy asked, feeling angry at the fear the watcher was pulling up in her, tightening her chest.

"And, if the Ter Sis Animi will only be fulfilled through the debt Willow told Tara of, if Willow must make an act of contrition for those mistakes, the horrible, desperate acts of that other life, then I'm afraid…" The watcher trailed off, closed his eyes.

"What Giles?" Buffy asked, gripping his arm. "Afraid of what?"

He opened his eyes again, grey and woeful. "I'm afraid she wont' survive it."

The little blond stared up at her watcher, mouth hanging open. She snapped it closed, shook her head. "No." She said firmly.

"Buffy—"

"No," she repeated. "I won't let that happen. It won't happen."

Buffy turned and fled back into the Magic Box. Giles stood there in the darkness, alone, and then sighed and followed after.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

By the time Tara's feet touched the warehouse floor little needle flares of pain were snaking up the back of her head. She staggered as she ended the levitation, legs rubbery, wincing at the rattle of the chain dragging up through the rafters on the ceiling. _Just the hands_, she thought. If she could just open the shackles, then she would be free.

Tara called on her magic ignoring the pain that came with it, because it would be worth it in the end. But before she could begin to work her will, there was a footstep and hands snaked out of the darkness, grabbing her wrists. She whimpered as blood pounded painfully in her hands.

"Aw, did I hurt you, baby?" Warren snapped on a headlamp and leaned out of the darkness, face twisted with amusement. "Or maybe I scared you?" He squeezed her aching arms again and laughed when she bit back a groan. "A little bit of both then?"

Tara pulled away from him, but Mears held fast. He pushed back the shackles as far as they would go up her arm, and she felt cool metal, heard the snap and click, as he closed handcuffs around her, biting into her swollen wrists.

"Very impressive recovery time on the magic use," he said thoughtfully, giving the cuffs a little tug. "I was surprised how far you got with the chains. And perfect timing too—it saved me having to crank you down."

She felt his hands move over the shackles and then the chains that had been weighing on her arms slipped away, falling to the floor with a clang. Before Tara had time to react, Mears used the handcuffs to jerk her forward.

"It's time to go," he said giddily. "We have places to be."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she growled, pulling back against his grip on the handcuffs.

"It wasn't a request," he said, voice cold.

Tara didn't see his fist moving out of the dark until it was too late to avoid it, wincing as he struck the side of her head.

"And just to make sure you behave—"

The hand he'd struck her with flattened, she could feel something trapped between his palm and her cheek, a cool metal disk that he pressed into the bottom of her jaw.

She cried out at the feeling tiny splinters of metal digging into her skin, of fire crawling up into the bone, moving sluggishly up the side of her face toward her eye.

"You like that?" He asked, she shuddered as he ran a finger around the edge where the strange metallic object adhered to her skin. "I made it just for you. If you try to do magic, that'll jolt you with enough electricity to knock you right on your ass."

Tara closed her eyes and whimpered, the burning was in her eye socket now—it felt like her optic nerve was being chewed.

"Too many of those shocks and you'll start dropping IQ points, and we don't want that, do we? No we don't."

She felt warmth on the side of her face and jerked her head. Mears was trying to pat her, trying to comfort her. She shuddered again uncontrollably, completely repulsed.

When Tara opened her eyes again she caught the anger fading from his face, but when he noticed her watching he smiled brightly.

"It's okay, that's okay," he said, soothingly. "Soon you'll be the perfect girl. You're gonna love it." He laughed. "You'll love everything I tell you to, including me." Mears stared at her for a moment, still grinning, and then shook his head. "Oh," he said thoughtfully, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "And if you try to run—"

Warren pulled out a gun, pressed the cold metal of the barrel to Tara's temple. "I will shoot you, right in the head. Let's see your witch bitch bring you back from that." He tapped the barrel against her skin with each word he spoke, and then dropped it down to his side. "Yeah."

Tara stumbled as Mears started walking, dragging her after him. He was pulling her toward a distant doorway, hazy with grey light. For the first time since she'd woken, hanging, Tara wished she could just stay in the dark.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve_

When Buffy and Giles walked back into the Magic Box they found Xander and Anya huddled up together near the counter, talking in low voices as they kept an eye on Willow and Dawn. The dark haired teen was sitting at Willow's feet, dozing with her head pressed against the slight witch's knees. Dawn was murmuring words of comfort and companionship to her in a steady stream, her voice blurred as she fought off sleep. Every so often she would lift her hand and run it over Willow calf in a gentle pat, even though the redhead was still frozen in the grips of the Vincere and gave no sign that she could hear or feel the solace she was being offered.

Anya strode over to the slayer and her watcher with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, Xander following after her like a huge hunched and pensive duckling. Anya stopped less than a foot away from Buffy, tapping her foot on the ground. Xander just stared at his feet.

"What's up?" Buffy asked.

"I was just wondering if you came up with any brilliant strategies while you were outside whispering and rudely excluding us from your conversation." Anya replied.

"Anya," Xander said in a low voice, shaking his head. "Come on."

"It's all right," Buffy said. "No Anya, as much as I wish I could tell you differently, we don't have any magic master plan. I just—" The little blonde paused when Giles gripped her arm. "I just needed to talk to Giles, I've missed him."

"Well," Anya hissed in a low voice, "While you two have been bonding, those geeks have gotten that much farther ahead of us, Tara has gotten that much closer to being lost forever."

"Attacking Buffy and Giles for having a five minute conversation isn't going to help the situation any," Xander grumbled.

Anya continued as if she'd never heard her ex-fiancé's interruption.

"Well while you were catching up on old times, I did think of a plan. Buffy, you and Xander and I should go to get Tara. We can leave Giles to watch over Dawn and Willow. Giles," she said, turning toward the watcher, "Since you have all your spiffy borrowed magic then you should be able to keep Willow and Dawn safe from any baddies, right?"

Giles just stared at Anya for a moment, then his gaze flickered to Buffy, to Xander, and back to Anya again. "As surprising as it is, I think I must agree with Anya. With Willow bound, I should have more than enough power to keep us save from anything the Hellmouth has to offer."

Buffy gave him an incredulous look. "Tempt fate much?" She drawled.

"Buffy, we're within hours of sunrise. I'm not being unrealistic, I'm just keeping track of the time. I will be able to keep them safe, and once the sun comes up that will be a markedly easier task. At the risk of harping I'll repeat myself. I agree with Anya. The three of you should go."

"The G-man is agreeing with Anya on battle strategies. I knew it felt like an apocalyptic kind of day today." Xander said, hunching his shoulders even more, as if he were expecting a blow.

"Oh har, har, Harris," Anya said coolly.

"I guess we'd better get some gear," Buffy said grimly. Before she could take a step, Xander laid his hand on her shoulder.

"When are we going to tell Dawn and Willow?"

Buffy looked up at the dark-haired man, and then over at Willow and her sister, who both appeared to be sleeping. Dawn was completely curled up against Willow's legs, hair trailing down in front of her face. And Willow, Willow seemed more peaceful some how, her brow relaxed and smooth, free of furrows for the first time Buffy could remember in the longest time.

"Let's just hope we're out of here before they wake up," she replied.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tara felt her stomach clench, felt nausea rippled through her, wave after wave, as the old hearse climbed a rough dirt road that seemed to go on forever. She stared down at her shaking hands, wrists torn and raw from hours of hanging in chains, the bright line of the handcuffs pressing into the wounds. The car was perfectly silent but for the hum of the tires on the packed earth, and the sound of Jonathan sliding around on the three coffins squeezed into the back of the vehicle. Every so often there would be a thud in the back and a chuckle from Mears and Andrew. Each time Tara pulled into herself, trying to make herself as small as possible so she wouldn't touch either man. Those few times her efforts failed she couldn't hold back the shudders that followed.

The trembling in her hands grew more pronounced as another wave of nausea rolled over her. Andrew sped into a sharp left hand curve and sent her sliding across the seat. As soon as the car straightened out she scrambled away from Mears, holding herself small and still, like she was a child again, trying to avoid her father's rage. She heard Jonathan give a yelp as he slid back and slammed into the rear hatch of the hearse.

"A little warning guys?" Jonathan asked bitterly. "There's a glass window in the back door for this thing. I'd rather not be ejected from the hearse. Not on my agenda for today."

"Sorry Jonathan," Andrew replied in a singsong voice. Mears snorted with laughter. "Going up."

The angle of the car's ascent grew ever steeper, and with each foot they climbed the nausea became more pronounced. There was an evil radiating from this place, a darkness more powerful than anything she'd felt on the Hellmouth before. _The right source for a rite,_ Tara thought, remember Warren's words._ Dear goddess, help me._

"Please," she said softly, speaking aloud before she could stop herself. Tara swallowed against another wave of sickness, trying not to gag. "Please don't do this. You don't understand the forces you're tampering with."

"Listen to my little birdie sing," Mears chuckled. "Doesn't she sing beautifully, Andrew?" He laughed louder when he reached out and Tara shrank away from his hand.

"Sure Warren," the blonde boy said softly. "But can you keep her quiet? This road is treacherous enough without distractions."

"Shhh," Mears told Tara, holding a finger to his lips. "Be vewy, vewy quiet. Andrew's twing to dwive."

"And I know exactly what power we're tapping into up here," Andrew muttered under his breath. "I'm the one that found it, I found it for Warren, so don't think you know, because you don't."

Tara wondered if the petulant blonde boy had realized yet that he was in love with Warren Mears. She wondered if there was some way she could use that knowledge to get away from them. To get back to her Willow. But there would be no time to plan, to talk, to maneuver, because the ride was leveling out. As the hearse moved across a plateau Andrew hit the breaks, bringing the car to a sudden, jarring stop.

"Sorry, Jonathan," Andrew laughed as the little man cursed, holding onto the coffins for dear life.

"All right enough joking around," Mears said, pushing open the passenger door. "Everybody out. We have a lot of work to do, and not much time to get it done."

Andrew was up and out of the car before Warren even had one foot on the ground. Tara could hear Jonathan struggling around in the back seat, and then there was a creak as the rear hatch opened. Jonathan slid off of the coffins with a little grunt of effort as he strained to feel for the ground with his toes. She sat perfectly still as her captors moved around her, wracking her brain for any path of escape. Unbidden, the words to a charm of opening echoed in her mind as clearly as if she'd just read it in a book. At the mere thought, a burning line of pain spread along her cheek from the device Warren had placed in her jaw.

"I said everybody out."

Tara looked up. Mears was standing in the hazy gray of fading night, leaning into the car and leering at her. Tara just stared down at her hands, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

"Come on now, I'm asking nicely," he continued, but Tara didn't move. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Tara cried out as Warren snagged both hands in her hair and pulled with all his strength. She pushed herself across the seat and out of the car, trying desperately to close some of the distance between them, to end some of the knife-sharp agony of her scalp, but Mears just kept backing further away. Tara stumbled and Mears turned sharply, sending her spilling to the ground.

"Now behave yourself," he said darkly. "Andrew, where's my work crew? Get a move on, it's getting awfully bright out here."

Fighting tears, Tara sat on the ground where she'd fallen, watched Andrew run past a pacing Mears, a still-pouting Jonathan, to throw open the hatch of the hearse. As soon as a gap appeared Andrew reached in a rapped once, sharp and loud, on the top of each casket. The coffins began to rock, jerking back and forth in a broken rhythm.

"What?" Jonathan began.

"Just watch," Andrew replied smugly. He began to chant, low and fast under his breath. He reached into the jacket he was wearing and drew out three waxen figures, each with fragments of jet charcoal pressed in where the eyes and hearts would be on a man. As the blonde boy's chanting ended, he jerked the figures upward. At the same moment the lid of each coffin exploded into slivers of wood. Three vampires pushed free of the wreckage, each one with their game face on.

"You let me ride all the way here on top of vampires?" Jonathan cried incredulously.

"We could've tied you to the roof," Andrew replied. The vampires climbed out of the hearse and began walking towards them.

"Strangely enough that would've been safer," Jonathan complained, stepped back from Andrew, who seemed completely undisturbed by the vampires drawing ever closer.

"You're such a crybaby," Andrew drawled.

"Call me whatever you want," Jonathan replied, continuing to back away. "Just don't call me dinner."

"Oh no," Andrew said in a slow, stilted, utterly sarcastic voice. "Big bad vamps. Whatever shall I do?" He walked backwards until he was right next to a cringing Jonathan. "We may be doomed."

"Do something," the smaller man demanded.

"Little ole me?"

Tara watched this exchange without raising her head, through the haze of her own eyelashes. Mears moved and she cringed, but the dark haired man stalked right past her, thrusting an arm out toward Andrew.

"Stop playing around and get these guys working. I already told you once—we're running short on time. If your little game messes up my plan…" Warren trailed off, fists clenched down at his sides. "Don't mess up my plan."

"Sorry, sorry," Andrew murmured. He walked up to the vampires and held up the waxen effigies. "Stop."

At the boy's command the vampires all came to a halt, looking confused. The largest of the three vampires, a silver-haired, thickly built man in its past life, was only still for a moment before it took a step.

"Stop and freeze completely," Andrew demanded. The vamp froze. "Don't move until I tell you," he continued.

"You could've stopped them any time?" Jonathan squawked.

"Shush," Andrew said primly. "Concentrating here."

He walked past the vampires to the back of the hearse, pulling out three shovels. Andrew dragged them toward the vampires, laying one at each of their feet. There was no reaction at all from the demons, even their gaze stayed locked straight ahead, where dawn was just a lavender hint on the horizon.

"Each of you take a shovel, straighten, and then cease all movement," Andrew said softly. When the vampires obeyed he chuckled and waved his wax figures in the air, tipping them back and forth as if they were dancing. Mears cleared his throat and Andrew froze. "All right lumpy, dumpy, and bumpy," he drawled after a moment spent watching the sour look on Warren's face. "Follow me."

Tara watched the blonde one guide the vampires across the top of the bluff. It was clear he was controlling them with the misshapen effigies he carried. She imagined running across the stretch of open ground between them and dashing the figures to the ground. The vampires would be free, and they would all die. She would die. But he wouldn't change her. A movement drew her attention. Mears had stopped to watch Andrew play pied piper with the vamps, perfectly still accept for his right arm. Every second he lifted that arm up and away from his body, bringing it back down a moment later with a thump. The gun clutched in his right hand rattled with each collision. Tara sagged.

Mears would gun her down before she could get anywhere near Andrew. She had no illusions—nothing was more important to Mears than his own miserable hide. Not even his plan. Andrew placed the vampires in a loose circle about thirty feet across and ordered them to dig. The vampires launched into action, shovels moving in a blur as huge arcs of dirt began to fly through the air. Within moments the demons had cleared several feet of earth, moving in toward each other and back out again as Wells commanded, cutting a huge circle into the ground.

They were uncovering…something, something terrible. Tara could feel malevolence pressing on her like a physical weight, setting her stomach churning again. But overriding it all was a stark and numbing horror. Mears moved closer to Andrew, his vague praise soft and tinny, barely heard over the pounding of Tara's own pulse in her ears. _Can't say here,_ Tara though to herself over and over. _Can't stay here. There's something terrible here._ She scrambled to her feet, panting for breath.

"Well Warren," Andrew said cheerfully, waving one hand towards the digging vampires, holding the wav figures to his chest with the other. "What do you think? Pretty impressive, huh? These guys—"

"What do I think?" Mears asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. "I think she's gonna go for it."

"Oh yeah," Andrew replied, smiling, only half-listening. "They're goig for it all right. These vamps are faster and stronger than any human workers we could've found. And they don't expect to be paid. Double perk!"

"Not the stupid vampires," Warren said dismissively. "Look at her—" Mears gave a little sideways jerk of his head.

Andrew's face twisted in a scowl when he realized that Warren had been watching the witch from the corner of his eye the whole time. "What about her?" He asked sourly, shouting at the vampires to dig faster in the same breath.

"She's gonna try it, Andrew," Warren laughed. "Look at that desperation, that fear."

_Can't stay here,_ Tara thought. _Have to get away from here._ She called her magic, and as she felt it stir in the soles of her feet, rising through her body like a warm tide, she shrieked. Fiery agony lanced through the side of her face and neck, literally knocking her off her feet. She was thrown backwards onto the ground, stiff as a board, thrashing, jaw clenched as her body seized and seized. Tara squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, trying to fight for her power, to free herself, but she felt it waiver, retreat in the face of the sheer electrical force burning through her. The moment her magic fled the pain vanished, leaving her panting and sobbing on the ground.

"She'll be feeling that for a while," Mears laughed. "Silly little thing."

Andrew turned his back on the sight of Mears mooning over the witch, instead focusing his attention on the vampires he controlled. In the time Tara attempted and failed to escape, the vampires had dug down so deep they were no longer visible, huge clods of dirt flying up over the edge of the pit.

"So how long is that spell going to hold?"

Andrew gasped, giving a little leap, and glared down at Jonathan. The tiny man was standing at his side, fidgeting.

"Don't sneak up on me," Andrew hissed, elbowing Jonathan in the shoulder.

"Don't hit me," Jonathan replied. He pulled back a leg like he was going to kick the taller boy.

"You might want to rethink that, Shorty. If I drop these," Andrew said, nodding down toward the effigies, "I'd hate to think of how disappointed the vampires would be."

"Disappointed?" Jonathan asked. "To be free?"

"No," Andrew replied darkly, between clenched teeth. "Because I'm sure once Warren was done with you there wouldn't be much left for them to eat."

"You're not funny, Andrew, leave the humor to your brother." Jonathan looked pale, a little shaky. "How long," he said slowly, pointing into the ever-deepening hole, "Is this spell going to hold?"

'That won't be an issue," Andrew replied.

As he spoke, the sun rose on the horizon. Light crept over the ground slowly, warming the earth and melting the frost in the grass. The line of light passed over Tara, and she opened her eyes. The sound of shovels biting the earth seemed to fill her entire existence. She strained to sit up, but her body didn't respond. Tears slid down her cheeks. The dark power was so thick in the air now she could practically taste it. Bile flooded her mouth and she swallowed against it, trying not to choke.

"You won't be trying that again soon, will you?" Mears chided. He used his foot to turn Tara over onto her side. "Try not to get sick in your pretty hair." He laughed as he held his hand up to his face against the rising light.

The vampires were still mid-dig, more than twenty feet below ground, when the sun slipped over the edge of the pit. In an instant the vampires began to burn, exploding into ash. The echoes of their screams were swallowed by the clang of three shovels hitting the ground.

"I told you, Jonathan," Andrew said glibly, tossing his rough-hewn wax figures down into the hole with the shovels. "Not an issue."

"Impressive," Mears said, pushing between Andrew and Jonathan to peer down into the pit. "But the question of the hour—was it enough?" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward Tara and spoke without taking his gaze from the hole. "Andrew, you go and keep an eye on our magic girl over there, the little man and I need to have a private talk."

Rage crumpled Andrew's face for an instant, but hen he forced himself to smile. "Of course, Warren."

As soon as they were alone Mears slipped an arm over Jonathan's shoulders and walked them closer toward the edge. Jonathan cast a nervous glance up at Mears, but didn't fight their movement.

"Well Mr. Levinson," Warren said solemnly, "Take a look at that, that's fine possessed vampire craftsmanship for you."

"It's, yeah, it sure is a big hole," Jonathan murmured.

"But?" Warren said, squeezing Jonathan's shoulder till the smaller man grimaced. "Is it enough? Did they dig deep enough for your spell to do its work?"

The moment the smaller dark haired man began to nod, Mears clapped him on the back, smiling and laughing.

"Yeah," Jonathan said, giving a little chuckle too, shoulders dropping. "Yeah, I think its deep enough."

Mears stopped laughing. "You think?" He said quietly.

Jonathan froze. "Uh—"

"You think?" Mears raged. He pushed Jonathan right up to the edge of the pit, pressing one hand against the smaller man's back, forcing him to lean out over the emptiness.

"Warren!" He cried.

"We have one chance to get this right," Mears growled, giving Jonathan a shake that set his arms pin wheeling. "Just one." He shook him again. "Keeping that in mind, please release that a maybe, hopefully, possibly, or most likely, yeah, that is in no way good enough. Now," Mears continued, leaning Jonathan even further over the edge, gripping his belt with one hand to keep him from falling in. "Is it deep enough or not?

"Yes," Jonathan squeaked raggedly. "Yes Warren, for god's sake, it's deep enough!"

"Good," Mears replied cheerfully, stepping back from the edge and pulling Jonathan with him. "Then you'd better get to work."

"Right," Jonathan said shakily, turning back towards the hearse.

He'd only taken a few steps when Mears gave him a rough pat on the back. In a surprising move, he reached out and caught Jonathan when the smaller man stumbled under the blow.

"Careful there," Mears laughed. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the end Buffy and Anya were the ones who had to gather all the supplies, because they were the only ones small enough to squeeze through the unintentional obstacle course they'd made of Buffy's workout room. Giles and Xander kept up a steady, though whispered, conversation, trying to discuss options and strategies without disturbing Dawn and Willow, who both seemed to still be resting peacefully.

Buffy walked into the room with an armload of weapons, Jutte truncheons and Kamas piled on top of the troll hammer. She set the load down on the counter and sighed when Giles began to pick through the pile, fingered the cruelly curved blade of one of the Kama.

"They were hanging right on the wall Giles, they were easy to reach," she said softly, laying her hand on the handle.

"They're human, Buffy."

"Warren Mears has tried to kill all of us more than once, Giles. Think about what he's trying to do to Tara." Buffy replied loudly. She bowed her head when Xander put a hand on her arm. "Xand," she said softly, "You have ten minutes to find a way to break those blades off. If you can't we take them as they are."

Anya stalked up with two first aid kids in her arms and set them on the counter next to the pile of weapons.

"That's all I could find," the vengeance demon said. "We've got bandages, gauze, antiseptic and antibacterial ointments, butterfly stitches, a weak tourniquet. We'll have to hope that'll be enough."

Xander and Giles looked shaken, Buffy just resigned. "Ahn, do you think we're really going to need all that stuff?" Xander asked after a long moment of silence.

"We just have to hope that they haven't done anything else to hurt her," Anya replied. "Giles, we should really look at stocking supplies for when the normal humans get hurt. We should stock first aid based on slayer healing."

"Of course," Giles said softly. "As soon as we have Tara back, and Willow…is well, we'll reevaluate the supplies we keep on hand."

"When things get back to normal?" Xander asked hopefully.

"Indeed," Giles agree. "When things get back to normal."

The watcher didn't look any of them in the eye, instead reaching again to touch the blade of the Kama. All Buffy could think of was the warning her watcher had given her about the Ter Sis Animi, about the best friend she had ever known. She looked over at Willow, hanging in the air in the writhing green band of the Vincere, and wondered if things would ever truly be normal again. There was a loud clang as the Kama Giles was examining fell to the floor, blade smacking into the dark tile. Buffy, Xander, and Anya all jumped at the noise.

"I'm sorry," the watcher murmured.

"It's all right," Anya replied kindly. "You didn't hurt the floor."

"Thank goodness," Giles said, the tiniest of smiles crossing his face.

"Buffy," Willow said in a quiet, shaking voice, "What's going on?"

The little blonde was instantly in motion, running across the shop to lay a hand on Willow's cheek.

"It's okay," Buffy soothed. "Clumsy Giles decided to drop one of my Kama on the floor. You should go back to sleep."

"Since when is Giles allowed to play with your toys?" Willow asked. Buffy didn't reply. "Oh come on, I know it wasn't top Rosenberg humor, but not even a chuckle? Buffy?" Willow said, groaning as she fought to turn her head and catch her friend's eye. "What's going on?"

Buffy moved her hand down to Willow's shoulder and gripped it gently. "We're getting things together, Will. I'm going with Xander and Anya, we're going to go get Tara."

"Buffy," Willow said thickly, closing her eyes.

"Will, we'll get Tara and then everything will be okay. Giles will help you. We'll all help you get through this."

Something was wrong. Willow could feel it, pushing on the barrier of the Vincere, could feel the darkness watching for a weakness in the barrier protecting her friends.

"Buffy," Willow repeated, her voice flat, strange. She had to make the slayer understand.

"There's no use arguing, Will. We're going."

"Buffy, something's wrong." Willow opened her eyes and looked at her best friend, saw Buffy recoil. "Something's wrong," she repeated.

Willow's eyes were black as pitch.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Kata jiwe, ufa jiwe, nilavuta chana, ninabagua, ninabagua, kata jiwe, ufa jiwe, nilavuta chana."

Jonathan's voice rang out over the bluff as he chanted the words to his spell. Tara had finally been able to pull herself onto her knees and so she watched, wary, eyes flicking back and forth between her kidnappers, as the small man worked his will. Jonathan was sitting on a circular, hand-woven rug in a deep purple, rich with embroidery and beads. The rug sat at the center of a huge and incredibly intricate chalk circle, dotted with lit candles and bundles of herbs at crucial junctures in the chalk pattern. At his feet there was a large, rounded chunk of gray stone, striped with this lines of quartz. At regular intervals he would pass his hands over the huge chunk of granite and it would shift, rocking as if the stone were connected to his flesh somehow.

Finally, as he chanted, the herbs began to smoke and curl though no fire had touched them. Tara was torn between backing away from the sight of it and keeping still as she could. The risk of the spell, or the risk of Mears? Tara didn't move, she just watched the curls of smoke rising from the rug. Jonathan began to rock back and forth over the stone, chanting ever faster. On the seventh pass the stone began to develop cracks. Tara gasped as they were echoed in the earth.

Deep fissures began to spread across the plateau, straight across the pit where Andrew had commanded the vampires to dig. There was the deep, grinding sound of rock giving, scraping other rock, the hiss of falling dirt.

"Please," Tara called, pulling her eyes away from the breaking earth to watch Mears and Andrew. "Please make Jonathan stop. You don't understand the power you're unleashing here."

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Mears replied, watching the rocking Jonathan with a tight little smile on his face. "Yes indeed-y." He turned to face Tara with a broad and leering grin. "I'm doing what I have to do to get my girl."

_I'll never be your girl,_ Tara thought, turning away from Mears and his disturbing expression.

Jonathan was still chanting, sweat pouring down his face, dampening his hair. With each pass he made over the stones the cracks deepened, bursts of lines like angular snowflakes.

"Kata JIWE, ufa JIWE, nilavuta CHANA, NINABAGUA, NINABAGUA, kata JIWE, ufa JIWE, nilavuta CHANA."

"Hey Andrew," Mears called loudly, shouting to make himself heard over the sounds of chanting and breaking stone, "How are the preparations coming for the next stage?"

"Don't worry about me, Warren," Andrew said in reply, leaning out from around the hearse. "I'll be ready." Mears nodded in reply, but his eyes were already locked back on Tara. Andrew shook his head at the sight. "Like you'd ever worry about me."

The chanting and the shifting of the stone grew to a frantic speed and pitch. Jonathan cried out the words to his spell at a shrill and deafening volume, and the rock at his feet rocked crazily, nearly spinning over the rough fabric of the rug. The pressure of the place was finally too much for Tara. With one long low groan, Tara pushed onto her hands and knees and vomited into the grass. As her body heaved she wondered how it was possible that it had been only one day, one day since she woke up happy, safe in the arms of her lover. It felt like it had happened such a long time ago. Happiness was such a long time ago. _Will we ever be happy again?_

At the same moment she thought the words, Jonathan cried out and the rock at his feet cracked in two. The earth began to tremble.

_Willow,_ Tara thought.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Will?" Buffy asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "What is it?"

Willow could see the fear in Buffy's face. Before she had a chance to speak, to tell her about the pressure, the shift she was feeling, the Magic Box was rocked by a tremor. The whole building creaked and Anya was thrown off her feet. There was the distant sound of tinkling glass in the workout room and thump of books spilled from their shelves. Part of her could hear Dawn's anxious yelp, hear Xander ask Giles what the hell that was. But it was distant, muffled beneath the song. Something was…singing to Willow.

_I need to go, _she realized. It was all so clear now. Proserpexa was calling, and if she went to her, if she took her power… _Be fed, _she thought. _I will be fed._ Yes, if she were fed, then she would be unstoppable. She would be able to punish the ones who had hurt her family. She would be able to save the earth-touched one—

_Tara,_ Willow thought. And an image of her love—her crooked smile, blue eyes shining—was so clear in Willow's mind it was like she could reach out and touch her. Pull her into her arms. _After I am fed_.

"No!" Willow screamed, gripped by the horrific realization that thoughts she'd had after the tremor were not her thoughts, that the darkness was speaking to her with her own voice.

Willow held on to the thought of her lover, imagined it a shield held up to protect her true self from the encroaching darkness. Tara's love, a light, shining against the thing twisting in her guts. Willow winced as mocking, hooting laughter rippled through her mind, a twisted specter of her own voice, her own joy. The darkness pulled back, roiling in her guts, leaving her mind, for now, untainted. But even free of the dark presence, she could still hear the call of Proserpexa, knew what her presence must mean.

"Willow, talk to me!" Buffy said frantically.

The red haired witch forced her eyes open, saw the slayer's face transform with grinning relief.

"There you are," Buffy said softly. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"We have to go, now," Willow replied. She began to thrash against the bonds of the Vincere, her panic granting her strength enough to move against the barrier. "Giles," she cried raggedly, "You have to let me go, now—they've already started the ritual."

"Willow," Giles said softly, walking across the room to stand by Buffy. "How could you possibly know that?"

"They're at Kingman's Bluff," Willow replied. "They going to tap into the dark forces of Proserpexa and use them to bind Tara." She thrashed more fiercely, gasping. "Let me go, Giles!"

"How do you know that, Willow?" He repeated. "Can you hear her, can you hear Tara?"

Willow gave a hollow laugh that became a sob. "I hear Proserpexa. She's calling to me, to what's in me."

Giles shook his head and Willow closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. His gaze was hard. Cruel lines cut around his lips, his eyes. The watcher wasn't going to let her go.

"You're in no shape to travel anywhere," Giles murmured.

"I know—" Buffy began.

"It's all right, Willow," Anya said, running up next to them. "I know the way. I was at the temple when it fell in 1932—long story, don't ask—I can lead them there. We'll go get Tara, and bring her back to you, where she belongs."

Willow wanted to believe it. She wanted to put her hope and her faith in her family, let them go off and reclaim the love of her life, her soul mate. But she could hear the song, growing louder and louder. How could they stop Proserpexa's power once it had been unleashed?

"Will you be strong enough?" Willow whispered. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, staring at Giles, Buffy, and Anya. "Will you be strong enough to stop it?" She knew the answer. Once the rite had begun, there would be nothing the slayer or the demon could do.

"I don't know," Giles replied, ignoring the surprised looks he got from Buffy and Anya.

Willow turned away from him to the slayer. "Don't leave me here," she begged Buffy, begged her best friend. "We all need to go. You're going to need me, you're going to need Giles if we're going to save her." Buffy didn't speak and Willow sobbed. "I can't lose Tara again. I won't survive."

Buffy looked over at Giles and back at Willow again. "Giles," the slayer said, her eyes still locked on the slight witch. "She's right. We're at our best when we're together. We've seen the price we pay when we're apart."

Willow mouthed 'thank you' to Buffy and looked over at the watcher. _Please, _she thought. _Please Giles. Help me save her._

Giles was quiet for a long moment, but then finally, slowly, he began to nod. "You must stay bound," he told Willow. "If magical intervention is required, I will have to do my best."

"Thank you, Giles," Willow replied, "Thank you."

"Okay, it's time to move," Buffy said. Before she could reach out to take Willow, Xander was there, lifting the slight witch in his arms.

"I've got her," he said quietly. "Come on, Will. Let's go." As he lifted her, the Vincere rippled and shifted, flattening enough for Willow to press her head against Xander's shoulder. He cradled her gently as he moved over and around the wreckage of the pulverized door, step by careful step.

The rest of the Scoobies followed behind him as they left the Magic Box.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen_

Tara struggled to stay on her hands and knees, handcuffs biting her wrists as she heaved and shook. Shockwaves rolled around her and the terrible thunder of rending earth echoed in her bones. Mears stalked past and walked toward the edge of the pit, the chasm, which now ran across the center of the bluff. There was a sound, running under the rumbling. High, tinny, creeping across the inside of her mind like fingernails running over a chalkboard. _Singing_, Tara realized, _Something waiting down there in the earth, calling. Something dark. Something completely and utterly mad. _She imagined Glory crooning to her, the violation of the hell god reaching into her mind, and pushed backwards away from the pit, scrambling for purchase in the damp grass.

_Willow_, she thought despairingly. _Love you, Willow._

Mears stared down into the crevice running along the center of Kingman's Bluff. Its reaches were lost in darkness, but it radiated a clear sense of depth, of space, a gravitational pull that made the dark haired man shiver with delight. Goosebumps broke out on his skin as he caught a hint of marble and stone far below him. He could feel the sun beating on his back as he strained, peering into the chasm for some sign of what he sought, what he'd striven for with his careful planning. Mears took a half step to the left, crouched down, and watched thin rays of sunlight move through the black. And there it was, the spire of the Temple of Proserpexa, glinting in the light. Mears straightened and walked over to Jonathan, who was sprawled, half on the ground, half on the woven purple rug.

"Did it," the small man gasped out, struggling to sit up. "Did it work?"

Tara dropped her head, limbs shaking as she leaned back to sit on her heels. She made a noise half way between a retch and a sob. Could there be any doubt that it had worked? Couldn't they feel the venomous weight of it in the air, tainting everything around them? Even the grass beneath her hands had begun to brown, to curl and die.

Mears held out a hand and pulled Jonathan to his feet. "Like a charm!" He crowed, clapping Jonathan on the back. "Good work, little man."

Jonathan nodded and bent over, mumbling that he needed to catch his breath. As soon as Mears turned away Tara saw Jonathan's face crumple. She caught his gaze, willed him to do something to stop it, anything to make Mears stop. He stared at her for a moment and then shook his head, dropping his gaze to the ground.

"Andrew!" Mears called, striding back towards Tara with a broad grin on his face. "Where are we at on phase two?" There wasn't an answer right away and he paused, the smile dropping away in an instant. "Andrew? Don't leave me hanging."

"Sorry Warren," the blonde man panted, running out from behind the hearse with an armload of bundled herbs. "Sorry, I was getting the rest of the supplies together."

"And?" Mears demanded.

"As soon as Jonathan's ready we can prepare the grounds. Once the site has been prepared, we can start the ritual." Andrew was pale, sweating. "We're almost ready." He smiled when he said it, but his voice was shaking.

"All right," Mears said, clapping his hands together. "You've got five minutes to recharge, Jonathan," he said, looking back over his shoulder. "Have a candy bar or a soda or something. We'll need those energy levels up, up, up for the ritual."

"Yeah," Jonathan said dully. "Yeah, all right."

A few long strides brought Mears back to Tara's side. She looked down at the dying grass, sickened by the gleeful leer he had trained on her. Tara could feel him staring down, the weight of his gaze.

"Did you hear that, gorgeous?" Mears asked. He took another step closer. "It's almost time. Aren't you excited?" He crouched down next to the girl, close enough to touch. "I know I am."

Tara wanted to move, to back away from him, but instead she forced herself to look up, to look her kidnapper in the eye.

"Don't do this," she whispered. _Please, let there be some spark of humanity in you_, she prayed. _See that I am real, a real person, I deserve to be free. To be myself. _ "It won't be real. No matter what you do, it won't be real." She swallowed, tears prickling in her eyes as she thought of Willow. "Everyone deserves real love. I have that. Don't take it away from me. Please."

Mears stared at her, blinking slowly. For a moment, just a moment, Tara thought she'd reached him, that the madman would stop what he was doing, that he would let her go. And then Warren Mears laughed in her face.

"So sincere," he said in a singsong voice. "So pleading. Don't you get it? You're mine, and I'm not letting you go. But don't worry," Warren murmured. "Soon you'll be happy. I'll make sure of it."

As he said it, Mears reached for her. Inside Tara was screaming with fear and grief and rage. She wanted to spit at him, to curse at him, but she didn't. Tara kept her face impassive and calm as his hand crept closer to her skin. She would let him touch her, and then she would make him pay.

Mears was wide-eyed, smiling when his fingertips touched Tara's flesh. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Tara began to murmur. There was no time for him to react, to pull back, before Tara completed the spell and triggered the marker. She shrieked as electricity burned through her nerves, bending her backwards, but the pain was worth it as she watched Warren collapse, writhing and shaking as the charge coursed into him, his fingers trapped to her skin by the current. At the first hint of the pain lessening Tara called on her magic again. Mears's eyes rolled back in his head and Tara saw sparks dance across her vision, darkness creeping in at the corners.

"Warren?"

It was Wells. _No, _Tara thought. _You let him suffer. He needs to understand what he's done, what he's doing._

"Oh my god, Warren!" Andrew cried. He ran up between Mears and Tara and shoved them apart. Mears fell onto his stomach, gasping, and Tara was knocked on to her back, still trembling as she rode out the last of the shock.

Andrew turned Mears onto his back, cradling him close. "Warren," he mewled. "Are you okay? Warren, please be okay."

"Andrew," Mears groaned, eyes clenched shut. "Do me a favor."

"Thank goodness," Andrew replied. "Of course. What do you need? I'll do anything, just tell me what you need."

"I need you to get the hell off of me," Mears said, jerking away from Andrew and struggling to his fee. "And get back to work on the fucking rite." The blonde boy was still kneeling on the ground, mouth gaping. "Now, Andrew!" Mears screamed, spit flecking his lips.

"All right," Andrew whispered. "All right, Warren." He scrambled to his feet and ran back toward the hearse.

"And you," Mears growled, stalking back toward Tara. "You must think you're so funny, but I don't like your sense of humor. Get up."

Tara cried out as Mears grabbed two fistfuls of her hair and pulled with all his strength, dragging her up to her knees.

"I said get up," he roared, pulling again. Tara scrambled to her feet, swaying. "And if you try your little electric trick again," he said, hissing into her ear. "I will shoot you. Not anywhere fatal, but I guarantee you won't enjoy it."

Mears gripped her arm so tightly that Tara had to bite her lip against the pain as the bones of her forearm ground together. He dragged her toward the pit, toward the dark, toward the hideous song; shaking Tara ever time she dug in her heels to try to stop him. When they came to the edge of the pit, Mears shoved Tara in front of him, pressing until her feet were on the edge. She fell forward with a low moan of terror that became a shaking cry as her full weight pulled on the hair in Warren's hands.

"Look," he said, giving her a little jerk back, and then letting her fall forward again. "Down there, that is my destiny. That is your fate."

Tara stared down into the darkness, the warbling, shrilling melody in her head reaching a crescendo that set her teeth grinding. She couldn't scream, she wouldn't scream, because if she started, Tara didn't know if she would be able to stop again.

Mears gave a tremendous tug backward, releasing her hair and sending Tara spilling to the ground away from the pit. "Worry all you want for now, gorgeous, soon you won't worry any more. We'll fix everything—that sense of humor is just one of the many things I can change once the rite is complete." He slid his gun out from under his belt and pointed it at her. "Get up."

Tara rose slowly to her feet. Mears waved the gun and told her to turn around. She stared at him for a moment, wondering if he'd changed his mind, wondering if, when she turned, the last thing she would feel was a bullet burning through her back. It was a frightening thought, but at the same time it brought with it a strange sense of calm. Death wasn't the worst thing; it would hardly be the worst thing. But when she turned there was no rumble of gunfire, no burning in her back. Instead she found herself confronted with the view of Andrew and Jonathan preparing for the rite.

"Walk," Mears told her.

Tara was frozen for an instant. The chasm and Mears and his gun were behind her. And ahead, ahead was the end of her. All the bad, all the good, all the terrible and beautiful that made Tara Maclay, would be washed away like a sandcastle at high tide. She bit her lip to keep from weeping, striding forward with her eyes dry. Each boy had a thermos in his hands, pouring thick red blood from them in a broad circle on the ground. When the circle was closed, when the arcs of blood met, another tremor swept over the bluff, nearly knocking Tara off her feet. There was a sharp, cold prod of metal against her back.

"Step into the circle." Warren told her. His voice was flat, emotionless. "Sit in the center. If you move, I will shoot you."

Tara opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, dropping her gaze to the ground. She stepped over the thick stripe of blood and walked to the center of the circle they'd drawn. Tara looked up at the sky, surprised to find it so blue, to see the sun was still shining. When she sat, she pulled her knees up to her chin and kept her eyes there, watching the clouds head out toward the sea. _Will it be the same as dying? _She thought. _Will I get to see my mother again?_

Jonathan and Andrew moved around her like silent specters. The containers of blood had been discarded, Andrew was creating intricate patterns on the ground within the circle with powdered chalk, sketching out geometric figures that seemed to blur against the ground. Jonathan placed crystals and bundles of herbs, forming secondary patterns within the larger pattern of the chalk-swirled circle. Once they finished their weaving, each man took up a position at opposite ends of the circle, forming a perfect line with Tara, pointing them all back toward the waiting forces within the unearthed temple.

As if at some silent signal, both men closed their eyes, began to chant. "We summon thee demon goddess, devourer of light, living poison, mother of death, sister of darkness. We call on you, Proserpexa, hear our cry." They began to sway in rhythm with the chanting, slipping over into a blend of Latin and other ancient tongues. The ground began to shake.

"Goddess help me," Tara murmured, "Goddess help me. Someone help me." Each time Tara spoke she called out more loudly, until finally she was screaming to be heard above the thunder of rending earth, "Someone help me!"

"Scream all you want, Tara," Mears called, and he was smiling. "Only the midwife of endings can hear you now."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Giles, are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Buffy asked in a low voice. "I'm pretty sure I drive faster than you."

"And I'm sure that if we crash we won't get there at all." Giles murmured. "Particularly since this car didn't come with a roll bar."

Buffy opened her mouth to make a biting reply, but her eyes widened as she saw the asphalt buckling ahead of them.

"Shockwave heading this direction," she cried, pointing.

The tremor hit them and the car swerved hard to the right. "Hold on," Giles said between gritted teeth, wrenching the wheel to the left.

"You have to go faster," Willow murmured, she was curled up in the back seat with her eyes squeezed shut. "Giles, go faster. If you won't, you should let Buffy drive. Slayer reflexes."

"Will," Buffy replied. "I'm not a very good—"

Another shockwave sent the car swerving and Willow struggled to sit up. The call was so loud now, she could feel the power of the Vincere being strained, stretched, being tested every moment by the taint she carried at her core.

"You have to go faster!" She cried.

"It's all right," Buffy said soothingly. "We'll get there."

"The ritual has already started," Willow gasped out, trying and failing to stop the tears that went streaming down her cheeks. "If we don't get there before it's done, she'll be gone Buffy. She'll be gone forever."

"Let us hope Xander can keep up," Giles said grimly. He pressed the gas petal to the floorboard and his convertible leapt forward.

"Holy sh—" Xander began, falling silent when Anya elbowed him sharply. "Holy peach schnapps," he murmured. "Hold on guys, we're speeding up." The jeep's engine roared as he floored it to catch up to the retreating convertible.

"Xander," Anya began.

He shook his head and Anya crossed her arms, staring grimly at the world blurring by outside the car. They were shaken by another tremor and Anya clutched his arm, repeating his name.

"Not now," he replied.

"Xander, tree!" She screamed, pointing ahead of them. An old oak had fallen in one of the quakes and landed in power lines that weren't strong enough to hold the weight. The tree was pulling them down, sinking right into the path of the jeep.

"Holy hell!" Xander cried, braking and jerking the steering wheel to move them around the obstacle. As soon as they were clear he hit the gas again.

"It's bad, right?" Dawn asked in a tiny voice. "With the shaking and the speeding? It's bad?"

Xander sighed. "You've just," he trailed off, pale, his jaw clenched. "You've just got to stay calm okay?" He forced a smile on his face and caught Dawn's eye in the rearview mirror. "I don't believe Willow was able to change time, to save Tara's life, for things to end this way."

"You're right Xander," Anya said with clearly forced cheer. She turned back to face Dawn, smiling. "He's right. Yes. Xander is right." She reached back and patted Dawn's knee, still smiling. "Just because fate has shown herself to be nothing but a fickle bitch in the past, doesn't mean we won't get there in time to save Tara."

Dawn looked at Anya, and then up to the mirror where she saw Xander's brow furrowed, his eyes bloodshot. The dark haired teen threw her hands up over her face and burst into tears.

"Ah god," Xander groaned. "Anya, if you want to help with the comforting, how about you stick to gentle patting and leave the words to someone else."

Anya rolled her eyes at her ex-fiancé, but when Dawn continued to cry she unbuckled her seatbelt and stood, crouching in front of her seat.

"What are you doing?" Xander asked.

The vengeance demon didn't answer, she moved his arm of the console and pushed in between the front seats, moving into the back and gathering Dawn into her arms. She rocked the girl gently, patting her on the shoulder.

"I'm patting you to help soothe your ills and woes," Anya said softly. "And I will not speak, not because Xander told me not too," she said quickly. "Because I don't have to listen to him. I do it because I am a good and thoughtful friend, and I do not want you to suffer."

"Anya," Dawn squeaked.

"Yes?" Anya asked. "Do you wish to thank me for all the soothing?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Dawn murmured. "But Anya, do you think you could pat me a little softer?"

Anya looked at Dawn's back, and realized she was practically slapping the girl in her irritation with Xander. She immediately softened each contact, patting her shoulder with a gentle little blend between a stroke and a pat.

"Sorry," she told the younger girl.

"It's okay, Anya," Dawn replied kindly, lying her head back on the bottle-blonde's shoulder. "At least you distracted me from being worried, even if it was just for a minute."

"Really?" Anya said, sniffling. "Well, you're welcome."

"Thanks," Dawn sighed.

Another tremor hit and all three of them screamed as Xander turned wildly to avoid a huge chunk of asphalt that popped up in front of the jeep. Anya pulled Dawn closer.

"Now you pat me," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "It's my turn for comfort. I'm in need of comfort."

"Sure, Anya," Dawn replied, reaching up to pat the demon on the shoulder. "It's your turn for comfort."

Xander pulled his gaze away from the two weeping women and back to the road. It took everything in him not to ask for comfort too.

Willow stopped noticing the tremors when her own body's shaking became so pronounced, so constant, that she just didn't feel them anymore. As she shook she kept her eyes locked on the wet shifting of the Vincere, better the tug of nausea that the swirling brought her then the slump of Giles' shoulders, the taught fear and pity so clear on Buffy's face. Better that her stomach twist and ache than that she look away, or close her eyes.

Because when her eyes grew tired, grew dry with watching the barrier around her chest, and she would see. There was Tara; so wide-eyed and breathless the first time they wove their magics to move the vending machine. Tara's mouth turned in that gorgeous crooked grin the first time Willow imagined what it would be like to kiss her, the blush on her neck and across her collarbone the first time she had. Tara, glowing in the light of an extra flamey candle, glowing with the knowledge of Willow's love; the tenderness, the cries of pleasure that had made a paradise of so many of their nights. Broken glass. A bloodied shirt. A grave with an ever-growing pile of stones.

Stones for memory, stones for love and for regret.

"Tara," Willow gasped out, her voice rough, wavering. "Please Giles," she begged, "Please hurry. She needs me."

"We are, Will," Buffy soothed, reaching out to grasp the witch's hand.

"Willow." When Giles spoke he made a question of her name. "Willow, have you tried to reach Tara? Could you? Could you tell her that we're almost there?"

"Giles," she began, and knew they could hear the quaver of fear in her voice.

"She needs you, Willow," he replied gently, "If she knows we're on our way, perhaps she can devise a way to stall for time, distract Mears and his cronies somehow."

"The barrier, the magic," she struggled for the words. The shield was the only thing holding back the dark tide rising in her. How could she call, call to her Tara, when she was bound?

The watcher gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white. "Vincere binds darkness, Willow. You have your own power. You have a bond that ties you to Tara more firmly than anything forged by gods or man. You don't have to be used by that other power."

Willow closed her eyes and let the images of her lover that she'd fought so hard to repress role over her like a fog, skirting the boundary between the ethereal and the utterly tangible, ghosts of love on her skin, in her mind. She reached out to it, felt the Vincere pushing back at her like her hands scrabbled against a thick rubber sheet. Willow reached, called out to the earth, and felt a part of herself move, shift, slip past the Vincere to reach out into the world, to Tara.

_Baby?_ She called silently.

At first there was nothing, and fear clenched her heart, left her chilled, but then Willow felt a great wave of love, of warm relief, sweep over her.

_Willow, Willow, Willow._ Tara's love was bright and pure, flowing through their link.

_Tara,_ she thought. And for the first time since the watcher had cast it, the Vincere wasn't a pressure, not a squeezing weight. Willow was cradled, held close, in the tenderness of that protection. With her eyes closed, with Tara's love all around her, Willow could imagine she was being held in her soul mate's arms.

_Are you all right, is everyone—_Willow felt the sharp spark of Tara's fear.

_We're all right, love. But baby, are you? Has he…_Willow grimaced at the thought of Mears. _Has he hurt you, baby?_

_I'm all right_, Tara soothed, though Willow could feel the weariness that laced her assertion. _Time will mend it. Being with you will mend it. But you have to hurry, Will, the ritual— _

_We're on our way, Tara. Please baby,_ she pleaded. _Please just hang on a little longer and we can save you. I'll save you._

_Willow,_ Tara's thought was laced with adoration, but beneath it was an unmistakable shadow of regret, of fear. _I don't know if I can. The power, the power they're raising. It's terrible._

_I love you,_ Willow sent desperately.

_And you know I love you, Willow. Always._ There was a long silence and Willow's stomach clenched with anxiety at the thought that they'd lost their connection. _Willow. _Tara's touch in her mind was gentle, so gentle.

_Yes, yes baby, I'm here._

_I am yours, Willow Rosenberg. No matter what happens, know that I am yours. You have to be strong, baby._

_Tara? Please don't,_ Willow thought desperately. _Please don't say goodbye. I can't lose you again. _She gasped as the Vincere squeezed her like a vise as the darkness rose to lap at the edges of her panic, feeding.

_No, never goodbye, _Tara thought, and there was nothing but absolute truth in her mind._ I'm going to try to disrupt the ritual. To buy us a little time. Love you, Willow._

And she felt it, she felt Tara's love pulse over her, like a shield, and when the pain began, the crackling, flaring agony, Willow was held separate from it by the protection of Tara's love. Protected by her lover, even as she suffered.

"No," Willow groaned.

The pain in Tara continued to rise.

"Will?" Buffy asked. "Did you reach her?"

Then as quickly as it began, the pain vanished. Willow reached out with her mind, to offer solace to her lover, comfort, but Tara wasn't there anymore. The thread was broken, and as she trembled and shook, as she grieved, Willow tried and failed to reach her again.

"Willow?" Giles asked.

"I had her," Willow gasped. "I had her, but now she's gone." She looked into the tearful gaze of the slayer. "She said she would do something to disrupt the ritual, to try and buy us some time." Willow closed her eyes. When she spoke again it was in a broken whisper. "But it hurt her, Buffy. Whatever she did, it hurt her so badly. And now she's gone, and I can't reach her."

"It'll be all right," Buffy murmured, putting a hand on Willow's knee.

"I can't reach her," Willow repeated. She opened her eyes. "Buffy, what am I going to do?"

"You're not alone, Willow," Giles said firmly. "And the first thing we have to do is work our way uphill to a good vantage point. We're here."

He turned the convertible on to dirt road. Willow looked up and saw the car passing under a wrought iron arch that read _Welcome to Beautiful Kingman's Bluff_. Past it there was sky. Blue sky. How was it possible that the sky could still be so bright? That the sun was still shining? The car squealed to a halt and Buffy hopped out over the side without opening the door. Giles climbed out, and before Willow could call to them, to ask for help, the door at her feet opened and she found herself being lifted into Buffy's arms.

"I've got you," the slayer murmured. "What now, Giles?"

The jeep pulled up next to them and Xander, Anya, and Dawn climbed out. Anya had an armload of truncheons, quickly handing one each to Xander, Giles, and Dawn. Willow watched a look of consternation cross Buffy's face, wondered if the slayer would protest her sister's presence, but the little blonde just smiled down at her.

"Try not to move around too much, Will," she murmured. "We're going to be covering ground pretty quick. I don't want to drop you."

"You won't drop me, Buffy," Willow murmured.

"No," Buffy whispered, smiling wistfully. "I won't, Will. Let's go get your girl." She turned to her watcher, jerking her head toward the road curving away up the hill, to the bluff. "What now, Giles?" She repeated.

"That's easy," Anya snapped. "Get to the top, get Tara, beat the crap out of some nerds."

The watcher looked startled for an instant, but then nodded. "Let's go."

Without another word, Buffy spun around and began to run. Even burdened by Willow's weight, the slayer moved with impossible speed. Another tremor shook the bluff and Buffy staggered, dodging around a pool of rocks and gravel that came sliding down from above them. As soon as they were past it she fell right back into stride, leaving the rest of the Scoobies behind. Willow heard Giles whisper Buffy's name urgently, but the slayer didn't slow her pace. She wanted to squeeze Buffy's arm, or grab her hand, give her some sign of gratitude that wouldn't be choked by tears, but words were all she had. When Willow opened her mouth to thank the slayer there was another tremor. The witch spoke one word to her friend.

"Hurry."

Within minutes Buffy was nearing the crest of the bluff, and the intermittent tremors had become an unceasing rumble. Willow could hear Buffy's breath come in quick, rasping gaps as they ran up onto the plateau.

And there was the ruined earth, a long, ragged crack piercing the world. Mears standing with his back to them, watching Andrew and Jonathan rock back and forth on the borders of a casting circle, and between them, golden hair billowing in the wind as she floated off the ground—

"Tara," Willow groaned.

Light flared and burned through the chalked pattern of the casting ground. As quickly as it flared, it began to fade, and Jonathan and Andrew cried out, slumping unconscious toward the center of the circle. Tara still floated above them, her face smooth, a picturesque serenity. As the light died, she fell to the earth.

"No!" Willow screamed, writhing in Buffy's arms. "No, Tara, please no!"

"Oh god," Buffy murmured, and she began to run towards the circle.

Mears turned toward them, smiling, with a gun in his hand. Buffy stopped, watched as Mears stepped back toward Tara, lying still, so still on the ground. The slayer stepped left and right, like an animal trapped in a cage, gauging his response, watching to see how quickly the dark haired man could track her movement.

"Buffy," Willow sobbed. "We have to get to Tara."

"I know, Will," Buffy said. "I'll find a way."

Willow could hear the others scrambling up onto the bluff. Anya's little cry of grief, Giles' muttered oath, the sound of Dawn falling to her knees in tears, they were all swallowed up into the rage pounding at her chest. _Tara,_ she thought, trying desperately to reach her love's mind. _Tara, Tara please, baby._

As she thought it, Mears reached Tara's side. Still training the gun on them, he bent down and peeled something away from her face, slipped handcuffs off her wrists, tossing it all away. When he straightened and held out his free hand, Willow didn't understand it, was he showing them what he had done? Was it some type of perverse pride at the three figures slumped on cursed and dying ground?

But then Willow had her answer. Tara stirred. She reached out with one slim, perfect, alabaster hand and let Warren Mears help her up off of the ground. She turned to Willow with an absolutely beatific smile on her face.

"Tara?" Willow cried hoarsely.

Tara's smile deepened, taking on that crooked curve that Willow loved so much. "Willow!" The call was strong, happy.

_She's okay,_ Willow thought, her eyes swimming with tears. _She's still my Tara._

And then her Tara took that alabaster hand from Warren's, and slipped it around the dark haired man's waist. As she pulled him close, Willow felt a howl building in her chest.

_No, no, no. _Even as the chant rung in her head, the black at the heart of her cackled back with her own voice. _Lost, lost forever. You couldn't save her. You can't ever save her. But you can make them pay._

"Don't worry, Willow," Tara called happily. "Warren's been taking wonderful care of me."


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen_

"No!" The scream was a howl, ripped ragged from Willow's chest. Too late. They were too late. "No baby, no!"

As rage boiled up the Vincere shattered like glass, knocking Buffy backward off her feet. Willow fell to the ground, curled up with her hands and face pressed to the earth. _Tara. _ She pressed her herself up onto shaking arms, looked at her lover cradled against the man who had tried to kill them all. _Tara's gone._ And he was laughing.

"You made me a promise," Tara told Warren. Her voice was so calm, so happy. Willow felt bile rise in her throat.

"A promise?" Mears asked. He looked confused, but then his eyes widened and he began to laugh again, long and loud. "You really are a good girl now, aren't you?"

"I'm the best girl in the world," Tara replied.

_The best girl in the world,_ Willow thought. _My girl. My Tara. _She gave voice to a high, keening cry and collapsed back into the dirt as tears streamed down her face. She burned as if someone had held her mouth open and made her drink boiling tar, a viscous, clinging grief that would consume her. As the darkness pushed at Willow's mind she dug her fingers into the ground, begging the earth for strength. The force of it sent her spinning onto her back, one hand locked, digging down into the dirt, and the darkness fought for freedom, left her thrashing uncontrollably on the ground.

"A promise is a promise," Mears replied. And he handed Tara the gun. "You kill them all, gorgeous. Every single one." He looked over at the people who had come to rescue his girl, to take from him. "You know where to start."

"You're right," Tara replied. The smile dropped off her face. "I know exactly where to start." Before Mears had a chance to react she smashed the gun into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. As soon as he was down she lobbed the gun through the air, sent it flying, arching away to be lost with the temple of Proserpexa in the darkness, in the earth.

A flash of red caught her eye. Tara turned and saw Willow, her beloved, her soul mate, flailing wildly on the ground, Buffy and Giles trying and failing to stop the seizing. _No,_ she thought. _Please baby—don't leave me. _Tara ran.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

The two men sprawled in the cast circle watched her flee toward her lover, toward her family. At first Jonathan kept his eyes nearly shut, his chest heaving as he forced ragged breaths in and out, trying to fake the exertion that would've come with a successful casting. Then he noticed Andrew was watching too, saw a smug grin creep across his face as Warren began to roll around on the ground, groaning and clutching his head.

"You're faking," Jonathan hissed. "You're faking being passed out."

Andrew's eyes flickered to his. "Looks who's talking," he whispered, rolling his eyes. "You're faking too."

Jonathan's mouth fell open. "But—" he began, and then he closed it again. Finally fear drove him to speak. "But I didn't leave the stag horn and crushed abalone out of the herb sachets." Andrew's eyes widened and Jonathan smirked. "That's right, I saw you toss them under the hearse."

"Yeah? Well I didn't pretend to chant the spell while saying _let her be free_ over and over again in fifteen different ancient tongues before triggering a simple levitation spell. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

Mears groaned louder, rolling onto his stomach. He tried to lift himself onto his hands and knees but feel back to the ground, cursing.

"So neither of us has any idea of what could've possibly gone wrong?" Jonathan asked quickly.

"Exactly," Andrew replied. "Now shut up and be passed out."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Gone, she's gone._ A part of Willow could feel her body struggling, jerking; hear Buffy and Giles whispering meaningless comforts and baseless hopes. Maybe she would die. Maybe she would swallow her tongue, or her heart would give out, and then she could be with her. Be with her Tara.

_Except her body lives. The earth-touched one's heart beats. She won't be waiting for me on the other side of the veil. She'll be here with him. Unless I feed_.

The voice was so tempting, so firm and confident, but Willow knew it wasn't her own. The shrieking warble of Proserpexa echoed every word flowing through her mind. _I can't give in, _she thought to herself. _Tara is alive. She is in the world. Her heart is beating. I will find a way to bring her back to herself._

_His death is the only way to break the spell. Once Mears is dead, Tara will be free. She will be herself again._

What it was true? What if Mears and the other two had to die for the binding to be broken? Wouldn't it be worth it, worth anything to have Tara with her, safe and whole? _But the debt,_ Willow thought, pushing the idea from her mind. _The debt must be repaid. I can't hurt them._

_Not yet_.

That moment of weakness was all it took. Willow felt her link to the earth flutter, vanish. Her back arched up off the dead grass as she shrieked against the rising of the dark. She was pushed aside, supplanted, felt the burn in her bones, the ache of her flesh, as distant as a whisper.

"Oh god, Willow," Buffy cried, trying to press her friend's body to the ground, wincing each time the red head's thin frame slammed into the earth. Each collision was so hard it made Willow's teeth snap together, set her joints creaking. And Buffy couldn't stop it. Even her slayer strength wasn't enough to stop it. "Giles? What do we do?"

The watcher stared at her, gray and shaken. "I don't know, Buffy. I don't know."

"Willow!"

The slayer's head snapped up at the sound of Tara's voice, panicked and strained. She pushed Giles closer to Willow, slid his hand to replace her own, moving it under the witch's head to keep it from striking the ground. In an instant she was on her feet, blocking Tara's path.

"It didn't work," Tara gasped, doubling over with her hands on her knees. "The spell didn't work. I'm still me, Buffy. Please," she pleaded, "Let me go to her."

She'd known it, known the spell had failed, the moment she heard Willow's voice call her name with such fear, such grief. Love had moved through Tara so fiercely that it took everything in her not to cry out, to let her body fall to the ground in silence. But she'd had to. Warren had the gun, and if he'd realized Tara was unchanged, he would've used it.

"He told you to kill us all," Buffy replied grimly, fists raised.

"And I knocked him on his ass," Tara cried, gesturing wildly over her shoulder.

Buffy looked over Tara's shoulder, saw Mears trying to struggle to his feet. She immediately pulled the blonde witch into her arms.

"Thank god," the slayer whimpered.

"I luh-love you too," Tara replied, squeezing the little slayer. "But I have to get to Willow, Buffy."

The instant the small blonde released her, Tara dropped to her knees next to Willow, gathering her lover into her arms. The moment they touched Willow stopped. She was so quiet, so still. Tara felt a wave of panic rising in her, heard Buffy give a gasp of disbelief. But then Willow took a breath.

"I'm here, Willow," Tara said, rocking her lover gently. "I'm okay." She looked up at Buffy and Giles, tears streaming from her beautiful blue eyes. "What happened?"

"She's been fighting the power rising in her," Giles said softly, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Fighting so hard…" The watcher trailed off.

"But she's losing," Tara groaned. "No, no. Please Will," she said, pressing her forehead to her love's. "Please wake up."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Mears pushed up on to his knees, cursing under his breath. Every movement sent lances of pain arching across his cheekbone, up over the crown of his head. He could feel blood trickling down the side of his face. With a long, low growl he struggled up from his knees, stumbling as he stood and the world blurred around him.

"She pay, they'll all pay," he growled, swaying on his feet. "Just as soon as I find my gun."

He staggered toward the crevice, looking for any sign of his discarded weapon. Mears peered down into the shadowed depths for any glint of metal, but there was nothing.

"Damn it," he fumed. Mears lowered himself onto his hands and knees, feeling for a handhold, looking for a route that would let him climb safely down to find the gun. "Useless henchmen, traitorous bitch. They all deserve to suffer. A bullet's too fast, but a bullet is going to have to do." He began to crawl around the rim of the pit, still trying to find a way down. "And then I'll kill the slayer, and all her little friends. It'll be done. I'll be the winner. I win."

He crawled forward again and found his way barred by slim, khaki clad legs. Mears looked up and found Andrew staring down at him, the blonde man's face twisting with a funny little smile.

"Did you lose something, Warren?"

"Stop smiling at me and help me find the fucking gun. I'm going to end this," Mears snarled.

"What're you going to do with that gun, Warren?" He asked, still smiling. "We tried to help you. We've always tried to help you. What're you going to do with that gun?"

"I'm going to use it, Andrew," Mears replied. He forced a smile on his face. "But don't worry, I would never hurt you. You're my friend. Now help me look."

Andrew nodded, stepping out of Mears path, standing behind him and stretching on his toes to look down into the chasm.

"Is that it?" He asked, pointing.

"What?" Mears turned toward the pit, hands gripping the edge as he leaned in, looking for any sign of the gun he was seeking so intently.

"That's it," Andrew said.

He pulled his right foot back and then planted it soundly against Warren Mears's backside. The dark haired man tumbled into the chasm, eyes wide with shock. He fell right onto the three-tined sculpture at the top of the spire, letting out a long, low groan as it pierced through his chest. Mears jerked once, twice, and then he was still, bowing backward, his eyes glazed as he stared, unseeing, up at the sky.

"Andrew, what did you do?"

The blonde man turned to find Jonathan watching him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"What I had to do," Andrew replied coolly. "He was looking for the gun," he continued, pointing down into the darkness. "Warren was going to kill us all, Jonathan. He got what he deserved."

"Is that it Andrew?" Jonathan asked, walking forward and poking the taller man in the chest. "Is that really why Warren had to die?"

"What are you talking about?" Andrew said, rolling his eyes. "I saved our lives, Jonathan, you should be thanking me." He stepped past the smaller man, only to find Levinson barring his path, poking him again.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, Andrew." Jonathan gripped his hair, pacing in tight arcs. "You followed him around like a love starved puppy for months. Did anything he asked of you, no matter how horrible. How could you just kill him like that? Like he didn't matter?"

"He called me a henchman!" Andrew shrieked, giving Jonathan a shove. "Me! I was supposed to be his partner, his trusted ally—his friend. But all I was to him was a henchman. No more important to him than the damned Warren bot."

Andrew was crying now. He turned to face the chasm again, staring down at Warren's body. Jonathan held himself very still; ready to flee if the blonde man gave any indication he would attack.

"He wasn't supposed to want her," the blonde man whimpered. "He wasn't supposed to want her."

"Andrew," Jonathan began.

"We have to go," he replied, turning back from the crevice. He grabbed Jonathan's hand and pulled him toward the hearse. "We have to get out of here while the slayer and her friends are still distracted."

"We're not going anywhere," the little man fumed, pulling his arm free. "We're staying right here."

"And do what, Jonathan?" Andrew hissed. "Wait for the slayer and her friends to put an end to us?"

"They aren't like us," he replied quietly. "They won't hurt us. The slayer and her allies will see that justice is done."

"Justice?" Andrew laughed hollowly. "Do you not remember what that jail cell was like? You wanna be some guy's butt monkey for life? Because that is what justice means for us."

"We deserve to be punished for the things we've done."

"If you want to be punished then you stay here." Andrew began to back away from Jonathan. "But I'm leaving. I hear Mexico is very nice this time of year." He took another step. "Last chance, Jonathan."

When the smaller man didn't answer, Andrew turned back toward the hearse, taking long strides. Jonathan stared after him for a moment and then gave a ragged shout. He ran after the blonde man, and when he was close enough Jonathan threw himself into the air, tackling Andrew to the ground. Before Wells could do more than give an angry squawk, Jonathan punched him the face with all his strength. By the third blow Andrew was bleeding from the nose, unconscious. Jonathan walked over to the binding circle and picked up the marker and handcuffs that Mears had used to imprison Tara. His face was devoid of all emotion as he pulled his former ally's arms behind his back, cuffing him securely. With that done, he pinned the marker to Andrew's jaw and sat down next to him, pressing his chin to his knees.

"We deserve to be punished," Jonathan murmured. "We're finally going to do what's right."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I'm right here, Willow. I'm right here my darling." Tara rocked her lover with supreme gentleness, running a hand over her silken hair. She'd tried everything—singing, begging, tears, but Willow didn't respond. Even at the press of Tara's lips, at true love's kiss, beauty stayed sleeping.

"I'm so sorry for frightening you," Tara murmured, pressing her cheek to Willow's hair. "I had to pretend the rite worked because of the gun. I didn't want Mears to hurt anyone, love. I didn't want him to hurt you." She gasped as she began to weep. "Please wake up."

As if her words were a talisman, Willow began to stir in her arms.

"Willow? Love?" Tara asked. When she shifted again Tara looked up at the Scoobies, smiling through her tears. "She's waking up."

"Thank god," Xander groaned, pulling Buffy in for a hug. "Thank god."

"She'll be okay," Buffy said.

Dawn gave a happy squeal and tried to move closer, but Anya held her back, shook her head.

"Wait," the vengeance demon murmured. Giles gave her a grim nod of approval.

Tara's smile faltered at the fear she saw on Anya's face, Giles looking so haggard, so tense. But the Willow moved again and the smile crept back. The blonde looked down, saw the redhead's eyes fluttering open.

"Baby?" She asked.

Willow looked up at Tara with a gaze of liquid ebony.

"No," Tara breathed.

Willow's face twisted in a smile, broad and leering, black spread like ink through the roots of her hair.

"Comforted," Willow's mouth moved but it wasn't her that spoke. The voice coming from her body was far too deep, thick and distorted. "Even now she is comforted because you are well. She'd tell you so herself, but she's busy right now. And later, well, let's just say I don't think Willow will be living here anymore."

"Oh goddess, no," Tara groaned. "What do I do?" She murmured, looking up at the Scoobies. "What do I do?"

"Tara," Giles said, he reached out a hand to the blonde, gripping her shoulder. "Let me try the Vincere again."

The blonde nodded and he began to murmur, holding up his hand. As green light flared, Willow's hand made a sweeping gesture.

"No," the terrible voice hooted. "That won't work anymore."

Giles's eyes widened as he stared down at Willow, watched her being swallowed whole, but Tara never took her eyes of the watcher. He began to lift his hand off her shoulder and Tara reached out, lighting fast, pinning it in place. She could see it, swimming in his aura. _A power,_ she thought, and dared to hope. _There's a power there, and it isn't for him._

She locked eyes with Giles. "I know you came with a gift for her. Please, let me give it."

Giles hesitated for an instant, but then he nodded. "Do it," he murmured.

"Do what?" Buffy asked.

"It will be all right," Giles replied. "Don't interfere."

Tara lifted her hand off of Giles's and pressed it against the man's chest, and then she moved toward Willow's chest with the other.

"No," the darkness snapped.

A way of energy hit Tara and Giles, throwing them backward away from Willow.

"Dammit," Buffy growled, running past Willow, who was cackling and jerking violently on the ground. "Xander check on Giles."

Buffy ran to Tara, turning the blonde onto her back. A broad swath of scraped flesh had been added to the network of bruises on the young woman's face.

"Tara," she said, patting her cheek gently. "Come on, Tara. Wake up." Buffy gave a little sigh of relief when the witch groaned, blinking slowly.

"Buffy," she groaned.

"You okay?"

"Buffy, I need you to hold her down. I have to help her."

The slayer stared at her for a moment and then nodded. "Come on."

She pulled Tara to her feet effortlessly, leading her back toward Willow. Xander was helping Giles climb slowly to his feet. The watcher was holding the side of his head. Buffy sprinted the rest of the distance toward her best friend, seeming to move in a blur. She threw herself on top of the redhead, and Willow began to buck, spitting and raging at Buffy in a half-dozen different tongues.

"Help me," Buffy said, barely able to hold on against the powerful thrashing.

Anya kneeled down and pressed herself against Willow's legs. "Can't you punch her or something?" The vengeance demon demanded. "She seemed much easier to control when she was unconscious."

"I've got it," Dawn said, moving down next to Anya to grab Willow's feet.

"Dawn—" Buffy began.

"It's okay, Buffy," the slender teen replied. "Let me help. Willow's my family too."

The slayer nodded, and in that same moment Tara hobbled up to them. She beckoned Giles closer and pressed her hand to the watcher's chest again, dropping to her knees. In the same moment she pressed her free hand to Willow, completing the circuit between them.

_So pure,_ Tara thought. "I love you, Willow."

It started as a thin amber ribbon, like the crackling of heat lighting. The amber moved, out of Giles's chest and into Tara's hand, glimmered over the sky blue of her eyes, and passed out of her other hand, into Willow. Giles gave a little groan and slumped forward. Xander gripped the watcher's shoulders, holding him upright. The flicker became a glow that pulsed brighter and brighter under Tara's hands. Tara's breath came in sharp gasps as her eyes glowed brighter and brighter.

_Willow, come back to me._

Tara's thought echoed in the mind of every Scooby. For the first time, each of them experienced the true and real depths of love that the blonde held for the slender red haired witch. Xander, Anya, Dawn, Buffy, and Giles, each and every one of them, wept silently, praying along with Tara for Willow to fight, to pull back from the darkness. The light from Giles's chest flared more brilliantly than ever, and Tara gave voice to a ragged cry that was drowned by the roar pulled from Willow.

As the light began to fade, Willow's cry went higher and higher, her thrashing became a trembling, and then she was shaking with sobs. Buffy, Anya, and Dawn all settled back. Willow's hair was fiery red again, with no trace of black, and she was clutching herself to Tara with all her strength.

"I'm sorry," Willow gasped, looking up at Tara. "I'm so sorry."

_My green-eyed girl_, Tara rejoiced. "Shush, love."

"I'm so sorry," Willow cried. "So sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me." She pulled Tara closer.

"It was just a little tumble, love," Tara murmured, pressing a kiss to Willow's bright red hair. "You didn't hurt me."

"Forgive me for using dark magic when Glory hurt you," Willow cried. "Forgive me for losing myself to the magic and playing with your memory. For—"

Tara pressed her hand over Willow's mouth, lifted it away again when her lover fell silent. "It doesn't matter anymore, we're together now."

She pressed her lips to Willow's and felt the tension bleed out of her lover. Tara smiled into the kiss as Willow's arms slipped around her, pulling her close.

"I love you, I love you," Willow whispered in Tara's ear. "Please love, will you help me, I need to stand."

"Of course," Tara murmured. She rose to her feet, shaking her head when the slayer took a step forward. "I've got you," Tara murmured, supporting Willow around her waist, gripping one hand, as she struggled up off the ground.

"Thank you," Willow told Tara. She reached out with her free hand and took hold of the one Tara had placed around her waist, so they were standing, face to face, clasping hands.

" I know now, Tara," Willow whispered to her. "I understand. I know what I have to do."

"Willow?"

"Someday I hope you'll understand it too."

Willow held up her hand and a wall of translucent energy, evergreen and amber, washed over Tara and the others.

_Willow? _Tara opened her mouth to speak her lover's name, only to find that she couldn't move, even blink, she was left staring at her lover.

"You said it doesn't matter," Willow murmured, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on Tara's cheek. "But it does, because the darkness is still in me." She pressed her free hand to her stomach. "I can feel it fighting to be free. And as long as that darkness is in the world, the terms of the Ter Sis Animi cannot truly be fulfilled. You won't be safe."

_Please Will,_ Tara begged. _We can figure this out. Willow, just let us go._

"It's okay, Tara," Willow said, smiling though her eyes swum with tears. "Because I know now, I know the price I have to pay." She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Tara's lips. "I love you, and I always will."

Willow turned and she began to run, slow and staggering at first, but then her stride began to strengthen, lengthen into grace. Tara's eyes widened with horror. Willow was heading toward the chasm.

_No!_ Tara felt her power flare, pushed by panic. The barrier Willow had erected around her disappeared in a wash of sky blue and wheat, and then Tara was running, screaming her lover's name.

She could hear the other Scoobies calling out as the spell Willow had placed was washed away, but she didn't stop. _I have to reach Willow_. The words echoed in her head, again and again. Reality seemed to shift, the air go thick as honey. Willow was so lithe, so light, like a leaf carried on the wind. She heard Buffy pounding up behind her, but even her slayer's speed would not be enough. Tara dug in, fighting for another burst of speed, desperate to close the gap, to stop Willlow. To stop her from—

Willow Rosenberg, her love, her soul mate, the woman who had literally saved Tara's life, reached the edge of the chasm. She stopped, chest heaving as she gasped for breath.

_Not in time,_ Tara thought, and felt a scream pressing against her ribs. _Not in time, not in time._

And Willow turned, green eyes swimming with tears, hair blazing in the light. "I love you Tara!" She shouted it, smiling even as tears welled, slipping down her cheeks. Tara reached for her, and then Willow was in the air, falling. The flash of her red hair was like the sun slipping down behind the edge of the earth.


	15. Chapter 15

(I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone that has been reading. This chapter marks the end of Part 1: Body and Soul of The Wish of Three Hearts. I hope that you will enjoy the resolution!)

_Chapter Fifteen_

"No," Tara said.

It was a whisper, and then grief sent a scream boiling up from her chest. "No!" She dropped to her knees and stilled her mind. _Goddess, help me._

Tara reached out again, and this time her hand was cupped, as if waiting for something precious to be placed in the palm of her hand.

"There," Tara said, and the slightest smile spread across her face.

She was dimly aware of Giles holding Buffy as she wept, of Xander comforting Dawn, but all her focus centered on her hand. She rose to her feet, swaying, and walked toward the edge of the cliff. Suddenly Anya was at her elbow, placing a gentle pressure on her arm.

"Tara," Anya murmured, "You can't go with her. It's not time. She would want you to live, Tara."

Tara looked at Anya and nodded toward her cupped hand. "I have her, I have her but we need to hurry. I am so very tired. Help me, please?"

Anya's eyes widened and she nodded, steering Tara toward the rim of the chasm. With the demon's firm hand on her elbow, Tara was able to keep on her feet. When they came to the edge, she looked down and her heart sang. Willow, her Willow, was there, hovering, curled in the air like a babe in the womb.

"Willow," Anya breathed.

"Up love," Tara said softly. "Rise up to me."

Willow slowly began to levitate back up toward Tara and Anya, Tara's trembling hand and furrowed brow the only sign of the strain that the magic was placing on her battered body. There was a sheen of wheat and sky blue around the red haired witch, Tara's love, protecting her. Willow rose up into open air, and then settled into Tara's waiting arms.

"I've got you love, I've got you," she murmured, kissing Willow's hair.

Tara and Anya walked away from the long gouge in the flesh of the earth, Tara still cradling Willow in her arms. She was awake, Tara knew, because with every step Willow pulled her arms tighter around Tara's neck, keeping her face buried against the blonde's shoulder.

They drew even with the grief-stricken Scoobies. Xander was bowed over Dawn, who was crying in long, loud sobs on the ground, and Giles trembled, eyes shut tight as he held his shaking slayer. Tara walked past them without a word, Anya following just a step behind her.

"You can stop crying now," the vengeance demon announced. "Willow is okay, well, as okay as she can be under the circumstances. Tara saved her, she didn't fall."

Buffy's head snapped up. She took one look at Willow, cradled safe in Tara's arms, and began to cry even harder. Silent tears ran down Giles's face and he pulled Buffy close.

"I'd forgotten how weird humans are," Anya said with a shrug.

"Willow!" Dawn cried. She pushed herself up from the ground and took a step after the retreated witches, struggling when Xander pulled her into a hug.

"I know you're happy and relieved," Xander said, his voice shaking. "We're all happy and relieved, in fact I might lead us all in a rousing rendition of the happy Snoopy dance in a sec here—"

"Great," Dawn replied, struggling. "Then get off me so I can hug Willow and then I'll dance away."

"But," Xander stressed, not releasing his grip on the teen, "I think we need to give them a little while. We need to give Tara and Willow some alone time. You get it, right?"

Dawn stopped struggling, leaning her head back against Xander's shoulder. "I get it."

"That was surprisingly insightful and sensitive of you, Xander," Anya said. "I take back what I told Hallie, you're not a complete Neolithic clod all the time."

"Well, thank you, Anya," he replied wryly.

"You're welcome," she said happily, giving him an awkward pat on the arm.

Xander looked down where Anya was touching him with a little smile on his face. Anya didn't see it; the vengeance demon had never taken her eyes off the retreating figures of Tara and Willow.

Tara walked toward the edge of the bluff and saw Giles's car and Buffy's jeep parked a short way down the side, doors hanging wide open on both vehicles. She made her way down the hillside, slow and cautious, taking care not to jostle Willow as she moved over the rough ground.

When she came to the bottom of the slope, she carried Willow to Giles's car and stepped up into the backseat. When Tara sat, she pulled Willow closer against her, pressing her face into her lover's hair.

"I love you, Willow," Tara whispered. "I love you so much."

In a voice so tiny Tara thought she might be imagining it, Willow said, "Love you, Tara."

"Oh Will," Tara gasped, squeezing Willow and kissing the top of her head again and again. "Hi baby."

"I love you," Willow breathed, and then she tensed in Tara's arms. "I do, Tara, but the price, the price. The debt must be repaid."

She lifted her head and Tara had to bite back a gasp. Her lover's face was so pale, so strained and weary. _Haunted. She's haunted,_ Tara thought.

"You're my everything," Willow told her. "And I need you to be safe." Her lip quivered and tears streaked down her cheeks. "The debt must be repaid. I'm dangerous," Willow groaned, choking back a sob. "I'm dangerous. I don't want to hurt you."

"You aren't dangerous," Tara replied, pulling Willow back against her again. "I love you, I love you more than life itself. I'll never let you go, Willow."

Images began to flutter in front of her eyes. Tara saw her own body, lifeless, cradled in Willow's trembling arms. Then there was a bullet rising out of Buffy's body, Willow's ruffled shirt, blood-spattered, transforming into a map. Tara saw Warren's fear, his mouth being sewn shut, a bullet piercing his chest in slow motion. And then his skin was torn away, leaving a shell the hideous, slick, corded purple of a skinned chicken, body immolated in an instant. She saw Buffy, Giles, Anya and Xander all beaten or bleeding, slumped unconscious, a blur of weapons and fists. And then there was the bluff, but there was no chasm. Instead the spire of Proserpexa's temple thrust up out of the earth. There were bursts of green—

"I was going to end it," Willow whispered, trembling. "End it all, end the world, for the pain of losing you. You're not safe with me, Tara," she gasped. "I'm a monster."

Tara shook her head and carefully tilted Willow's chin up, looking her love in the eye and then placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"You're not a monster love," she said softly. "You've undone all those things. You didn't hurt anyone, Willow."

"But I wanted to," Willow whispered. "And I came so close. It's still in me, Tara. Still in me."

Willow began to weep in harsh, ragged sobs. Tara rocked her lover, peppering kisses on her cheek.

"I understand, Willow," Tara replied. "I understand what you're doing, what you've done, even if you don't." She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. "You didn't want to destroy the world, Willow. You didn't want to live without me. You wanted to die, and you were afraid to die alone."

At Tara's words Willow wept all the harder, burrowing her face against Tara's shoulder again.

"I know what you're going through," the blonde whispered to her lover. "Because I've seen that kind of desperation before. And for you to understand that, my love, you have to understand my mother."

Tara went quiet, hushed, even as she continued to rock her grieving love. She'd shared so many of the horrors of her life. Willow already knew about the physical abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her father and brother, had helped Tara to survive the nightmares, the panic attacks that plagued her after Glory invaded her mind. The one thing they'd never discussed was her mother's death.

But the moment Willow stepped into the void, that Tara had to pray she could keep her soul mate alive, when she saw her cradled on the air, Tara knew that silence must be broken.

"My mother was such a strong woman," Tara told Willow, running a hand down the girl's red hair. "So strong. She protected me, you know? She literally stood between my father and I more times than I can remember, protecting me from his rages. My power was clear from a young age and I couldn't always control it. There were accidental levitations, little sparks of light, and it m-made him so angry."

Tara could feel Willow's trembling slow, felt the heat of tears seeping through her blouse, the sobbing stopped. But Willow wasn't sleeping; she was wide-awake, her focus like a weight, the intensity of it prickled on Tara's skin.

"He wanted it to stop, he was desperate for it to stop. He tried to beat out of my mother, out of me, but that wasn't enough. My father believed that the strength of the demon, that evil, was building in us continually, that that was where the magic came from. And so he tried to wash it away. He called them cleansings."

Tara took a deep breath, she didn't want her voice to shake, didn't want to bring Willow any more grief and worry than she was already feeling. She just wanted her lover to understand.

"Cleansings," Tara repeated. "To suppress the demon. Every year on the summer solstice, when the earth turned toward winter and night, they would take us, Dad and Donny, they would take us out to the lake on the edge of the farm, row us out to the dead center where it was deepest, and put us in the water. They bound us, hand and foot, weighed us down with stumps from the woodpile, and put us in the water."

"Baby," Willow choked.

"I know," Tara replied, pressing a kiss to her lover's bright hair. "I was seventeen. In the springtime I noticed how quiet my mother had become, it seemed like weeks at a time went by in her silences. She was worn, gray, like a ghost in her own house. I thought it was because the cleansing was approaching, that she was afraid, because I was afraid too. And then the morning came, and they took us out to the lake, and they tied us up, and they threw us in the water."

Tara could feel tears slipping down her cheeks. She held Willow closer, sending her love and comfort, putting her focus on her lover. It was Tara's desperate attempt to ground herself in the now, a reminder that she wasn't that girl anymore, that she was safe.

"As we dropped beneath the surface of the lake, we watched each other, we always did. It was comforting somehow, that shared gaze. And when we settled to the lakebed, my mother looked down at the silt and weeds beneath her feet, and she looked up at the sky, and then she looked at me. She mouthed one word."

_Was it sudden?_

_What? _

_Your mother._

_No… yes. It's always sudden._

Tara shook away the memory of Joyce Summers's death, the terrible silence of the hospital waiting room.

"She said goodbye," Tara finished in a whisper. "My mother said goodbye and then she took a breath. And when the cleansing was done, when my father and brother pulled us from the water, she was gone. My father told me that the demon had been driven from her, that she was free, but I know the truth. I've always known it. My mother took a breath. She pulled water into her lungs and died because she thought she was something evil, something horrible, that she had passed that heritage on to me. But she wasn't evil, Willow. And neither are you."

"It's in me—" Willow began.

"I wasn't strong enough to save my mother, but I'm not a child anymore. I won't lose you, Willow." Tara spoke with absolute certainty. "I love you, no matter what you may have done in another life or this one. I can't live without you, Willow," she gasped, giving voice to a little sob as she finally began to weep. "So, please Will, stay with me. I love you."

Tara curled over Willow, felt the redhead press a kiss to her temple, her neck, her collarbone. The tears streaming down Willow's face cooled the warmth of each kiss she pressed to Tara's flesh. And when she moved up to press her lips to Tara's lips, neither one knew whose tears they felt, a mingling of their grief, of the overwhelming relief that the one who completed them was safe, was alive in the world.

"I'm sorry, baby," Willow said, pulling herself more tightly against Tara. "I'm so sorry that I tried to go."

"I know, love," Tara murmured. "You don't have to worry anymore. I'm safe. The price has been repaid." She didn't know where the words had come from, but as she said it Tara knew it was true, felt the certainty of it as clearly as she knew that no one would ever hold her heart besides the woman she held in her arms.

Willow shook her head, her hair tickling on Tara's skin.

"Yes," Tara told her lover. "All your loneliness, all your fear and regret, you paid the price for three years, Willow. "The debt's repaid." Tara peppered Willow's face with kisses, skirting the edge of the bandage on her cheek, catching every tear that fell.

The Scoobies watched the embracing witches from the top of the ridge.

"Is it over?" Buffy asked her watcher, giving a shaky chuckle. "I don't know if I can handle any more excitement."

"Yes," Giles said, nodding thoughtfully. "I believe so."

"Good," Xander sighed. "Very, very good."

"But what about the Ter Sis Animi?" Dawn asked in a small voice. "What about Willow's debt?"

Giles gave the teen a sad smile. "I think the price she has to pay is memory," he said softly, pausing to clean his glasses. "It is one that I am quite familiar with myself. But for Willow, for Willow it means knowing the true darkness she is capable of." He looked back at Willow and Tara, his smile fading. "The price is paid," he repeated, so softly that only the slayer could hear him.

Buffy smiled tenderly up at her watcher, giving his arm a little squeeze. "We should get home," she told him.

Giles grabbed his glasses, his clean glasses, and polished them again. "Yes, of course," he replied. "Let's go home."

The Scoobies moved down the slope in single file, a silent and solemn procession, and gathered around Willow and Tara. Each of them reached out to offer quiet comfort, gripping a hand, or a shoulder.

Xander took reached out and took hold of Dawn and Anya's hands, led them to the jeep and started the engine. Giles and Buffy slipped into the convertible. As they drove away from the bluff, the slayer reached back and gripped Tara's hand, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you," Buffy whispered. "Thank you for saving her."

Tara nodded, squeezing the little blonde's hand in return.

_Thank you, Tara._ Willow's voice echoed in her mind, soft with exhaustion. _Buffy's right. Thank you for saving me._

_We saved each other, Willow._ Tara sent to her lover in reply. _Body and soul._

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_  
_

As soon as Giles started the car, and the world was filled with the hum of tires on dirt and stone, on asphalt, Willow lulled to sleep, curled completely against Tara, breathing long and deep. Tara felt like the weight of her lover was an anchor, holding her grounded and safe in a world that had gone hazy, ephemeral and strange in her weariness. Outside the windows, there was a blur of green and blue, grass and sky, and the town seemed too big somehow, expansive in a way she didn't understand.

But then Tara realized what it was. The streets were empty. The residents of Sunnydale might be practiced at keeping a blind eye when it came to demonic activity, but the tremors that rocked the town that morning had sent everyone seeking cover.

Giles turned onto Revello Drive and Willow and Tara slid a bit on the backseat. The little redhead murmured, shifted in Tara's embrace. She looked down at her lover, at Willow in her arms, brow smooth in sleep, and felt her heart swell with joy, with relief. _We're going home love,_ Tara thought, running a hand down Willow's soft auburn hair. _We're going home._ Willow didn't wake, but she snuggled closer to Tara's chest.

When the cars pulled into the driveway, Tara looked up at the house that had become her home, and felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. Exhaustion ran in a thick current under the love, the gratitude that she felt for being whole again. _A day, _she thought wearily. _How can it have only been a day? _ She felt her arms begin to tremble and locked her fingers together, gripping tight so she could continue to embrace Willow.

The car stopped. There was a whine of breaks as the jeep came to a halt next to them. Giles and Buffy didn't move, they just sat in the front seat staring up at the house. Xander, Dawn, and Anya climbed out of the jeep and walked up to the convertible. The teen walked over to the passenger side and took her sister's hand, turning to look at the house as well. When Xander turned to stare at it too, Anya shook her head, putting her hands on her hips.

"What exactly are we looking at here?" The vengeance demon asked stridently. "Is something wrong with the house? Oh my god! Did the tremors cause structural damage?"

Willow jumped in Tara's arms, startled by the loud noise, and Tara rocked her, making little shushing noises until she settled again.

"We were reveling in the realization that we survived, Anya," Giles replied wryly. "Thank you for reminding us of the important thing—the house."

"Well Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Tara do live here, Giles," Anya replied. "And Xander might as well. I'm sure he's over here every day moping and asking for food. Look at him."

"Anya," Xander began wearily.

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "While you all stand out here and revel, I'm going to help our friends into the house. You know, the two who were almost killed and/or mind-wiped today? And when I'm done I'll go back to the Magic Box to make medicine from the sap of a demon that almost killed me to help my friends heal. Keys," she said, walking around and holding her hand out at Buffy.

Tara couldn't help but give a weary smile as vengeance demon's ire cut the fog that had seemed to descend on the Scoobies. Buffy handed the keys to Anya and hopped out of the car without opening the door, vaulting over the side. When Xander stepped around by Tara and held out her arms, the blonde's first impulse was to refuse, but she was barely able to keep her grip on her lover where she rested in her embrace, there was no way she would be able to carry Willow up into the house. She nodded, and Xander opened the door.

Xander reached down and lifted Willow with slow care, but as soon as she was separated from Tara, from the shelter of her arms, the redhead cried out, thrashing in Xander's arms.

"Tara!" She groaned weakly.

"I'm right here, Willow." Tara replied. She tried to stand, felt a sharp flare of pain spreading up into her shoulders, and slumped back into the seat.

"Tara," Willow repeated, sounding weepy.

And then a warm, firm hand was gripping Tara's elbow. She looked up to find Anya smiling down at her.

"Let me help you," the vengeance demon said softly.

"Thank you, Anya," Tara murmured.

With her help, Tara was able to gain her feet. Anya led her to Xander's side and Tara took Willow's hand, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance. As soon as their skin met, Willow quieted.

_I'm right here, _Tara thought to Willow over and over. _ I'm not going anywhere. We'll be together, Willow._

_Love you, Tare._ The reply was soft as a whisper.

The trio walked together up the stairs to the porch. Tara stumbled on a rough board, but Anya kept her upright, merely nodding when Tara murmured her thanks. When they got to the door, Anya told Tara to stay by Xander, left her leaning against the dark haired man for support as she opened the door. Still hand in hand with her love, Tara let Xander take them to the couch.

"Anya, can you help Tara for a minute?" Xander asked softly.

The vengeance demon took Tara's arm again as he settled Willow down of the soft. Tara arm was stretched to the limit to keep hold of Willow's hand, but there was no way she was letting go. Locked blue eye to green with her precious girl, Tara felt Xander take hold of her free arm, let him and Anya ease her down onto the sofa. Once she was sitting, Willow pressed against her. Tara wrapped her shaking arms around her lover and they burrowed into one another, hidden by curtains of honey gold and auburn.

Giles, Buffy, and Dawn filed into the house. The watcher walked over to the armchair by the couch and sank into it, pulling off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Dawnie," Buffy said softly, leading her sister toward the kitchen. "Let's get you something to eat."

"Kay," the girl said numbly.

The teen stared back over her shoulder at Willow and Tara, watching them murmuring, each to the other, with their heads pressed close together. Without a word she slipped free of Buffy's hand and walked up to the pair. As soon as she was close, Dawn dropped to her knees in front of the couch, and held out her arms. The witches unfolded from their hug, each holding an arm out to the girl. Dawn slipped into their waiting embrace, squeezing Willow and Tara fiercely. She planted a kiss on each pale cheek, stood, and then pounded up the stairs, pausing at the top and calling down to them.

"I'm going to sleep for a decade. Please don't wake me up unless it is for happy things, or for food. And not food by you Buffy, no offense."

Her door closed as the slayer murmured, "None taken."

Tara was so warm, the couch so soft, that she felt herself drifting off. Willow was already asleep, snoring softly against Tara's neck. She ran a hand down her lover's hair, listened to the tidal murmur of Buffy, Xander, and Anya whispering to one another. The sound and Willow's warmth lulled her into sleep.

"Tara?"

The blonde woke with a start in the darkened living room. There was only one lamp on, casting a dim, honeyed glow in the corner. Buffy was looking down at her with a little smile.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Tare," Buffy said. "It's getting late, I thought the two of you should have something to eat."

"Thanks, Buffy, but I'm not really hungry."

She looked down at Willow, the redhead was still sound asleep, her mouth hanging just a little slack. She was pale, but looked as young, as innocent and untarnished, as the day she'd walked into the Wicca club meeting.

"Is Xander still here?" Tara asked the slayer.

"He drove Anya back over to the Magic Box," Buffy replied. "Why, what's up?"

"I was thinking that maybe I should get her cleaned up and into bed," Tara whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Willow's head. "I think she'd be more comfortable in our bed."

"There's no denying that. Lucky for you, no man needed, slayer strength will save the day." Buffy tilted her head, watching Willow's slumber. "Let's wake her up first, though. I don't want to startle her."

"Okay," Tara replied, kissing Willow's hair again.

"I'll be right back, let me grab the first aid kit."

Buffy walked out of the room and Tara kissed Willow's cheek. "Love, wake up," she whispered.

"Uh, no," Willow groaned pitiably. "Wanna stay asleep with you, Tara."

"Let's go sleep in our bed, Willow."

"Couch is comfy."

"The bed is more comfy," Tara said, chuckling. The little laugh felt almost scratchy in her throat. She had a startling realization that she was hoarse from screaming. The day's events came careening back, she felt fire burning in her shoulders, heard herself scream. When she tensed, Willow sat up a bit, taking her hands.

"You okay, baby?" Willow whispered.

Tara nodded because she didn't want to sob, but felt a tear slip inexorably down her cheek. Willow reached up and caught it with her thumb.

"Of course you're not, I'm so sorry he hurt you, baby," the redhead replied, staring down at the bruised abrasions on Tara's wrists. "You're right, we should go to bed."

"Let's get cleaned up first, is that okay?" Tara said in a tiny voice. "We could both use some bandaging up."

"Okay," Willow agreed, she nodded and then leaned back against Tara. "Whatever you need, love."

"Just you, Will," Tara choked. "I just need you."

"You've got me."

"Forever?" Tara asked.

Willow pressed her lips to the blonde's cheek. "You're stuck with me."

Buffy walked in with the first aid kit in hand. Despite her protests that she could walk, the slayer scooped Willow into her arms and carried upstairs to the bathroom, Tara following behind at a far slower pace, taking each step with exaggerated care.

"Allow me."

Tara tensed and then blushed as Giles stepped up beside her. "Sorry," the witch whispered, "I'm a little jumpy."

"I shouldn't have snuck up on you," the watcher replied. "Forgive me. Can I offer you an arm?"

"Please."

Tara leaned on Giles heavily, when they came to the landing Buffy walked out of the bathroom and gave a little wave toward the doorway.

"She's right inside. Call us if you need us?"

Tara nodded and patted Giles's arm. "I can make it from here. Thank you."

"Please do call us if you need us," the watcher murmured. "You've both been through a great deal, no need to risk hurting yourself further."

"Promise," Tara replied.

She walked into the bathroom and found Willow sitting on the sage green bath mat, leaning back against the tub with her head resting on the wall. The redhead looked so small curled up there, Tara couldn't help but think of the night she'd left her lover, months before, wondered if it was the same place Willow had curled in her grief.

"Hi Tare," Willow said in a shaky voice, looking up at her with a smile.

Tara felt her worries and regrets swept away by the clear adoration on Willow's face.

"Hi love," she replied, settling to her knees in front of Willow. The bandages on the girl's face, her arms and hands and leg, were gray with dirt and wear. "Let's get these off and we'll get a bath, okay?"

"Kay," Willow said softly. Her eyes fluttered shut as Tara began peeling paper tape away from her left forearm.

For Tara it was telling of her lover's exhaustion that she'd failed to joke about them bathing together. Once she was done peeling off the first bandage, Tara literally had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from gasping. The girl had a strip of skin torn away, leaving raised, abraded tissue behind. Tara leaned over Willow's body and turned on the faucet, letting the water run to warm. While she waited for it to heat up she removed the winding bandage from Willow's leg, the bandages on her cheek and neck. Tara's hands were trembling, her eyes welling with tears, by the time she was finished.

As she leaned over Willow again to pull the stopper and fill the tub, scattering a handful of lavender bath salts on the surface of the water. As she settled back down, the redhead looked up at her with a grateful smile that faded the moment she saw Tara's grief.

"Tara," Willow said anxiously, "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Fine," Tara whispered, but a tear slipped down her face. "Sorry," she said, choking even as she forced a laugh.

"Hey," Willow said, pulling Tara down into her arms. "Don't overdo it."

"I'm fine," Tara protested. "But you," more tears fell as she cupped Willow's unwounded cheek. "You're hurt so badly, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Tara," Willow said gently, "You have a black eye and the whole left side of your face is a bruise. Look at your wrists, baby," she said, lifting Tara's hands. A four-inch swath on both arms was scraped and red, surrounded by bruised flesh. "I don't think I've cornered the market on being hurt."

"I need you to be okay," Tara sobbed. "I don't want you to be in pain."

Willow knew her lover wasn't just talking about her physical wounds. "I'll heal, Tara," she said earnestly. "And you'll heal. We'll heal together," she said with a little smile, pulling her weeping lover into her arms. "We'll be okay, Tare."

"We'll be okay," the blonde repeated. She turned and pressed her lips to Willow's unmarred cheek. "Thank you. All right," she said, leaning back and swiping tears off her cheeks. "Time to get in the tub. We'll get cleaned up and bandaged up, and then we can rest."

"For a whole day?" Willow asked wistfully. "Do you think this warrants a day off from disasters and apocalypse?"

"I vote we take a whole week," Tara said, kissing Willow on the tip of the nose. "A week just for rest."

"And maybe smoochies?"

"That could be arranged," Tara agreed. She felt so much love she thought her heart would burst with it. _My sweet, resilient girl._

Tara and Willow each helped the other undress, piling their clothes in the corner to go out with the trash—there was no salvaging them. As they climbed into the tub, giggling weakly as they each tried to help the other, they touched with tender grace, hands caressing unmarred flesh with nothing but affection and gratitude. Tara slipped in first, and Willow settled down in front of her, leaning back and closing her eyes, basking in the warmth of Tara's skin against her skin. The giggles gave way to little hisses as the water prickled wounds, to tears and soft sobs, as the women held onto each other in the warm, fragrant water.

After the tears had slowed, Tara gave Willow's arm a little squeeze and then reached over for the bottle of antibacterial body wash on the corner of the tub. She let a little pile of soap drizzle into her hands and then she began to carefully wash Willow, building a thick layer of lather that she spread on feather-light over her abraded flesh. She took a firmer hand on Willow's shoulders, kneading knots out of her lover's muscles with a deft touch that left the smaller girl sighing with pleasure. Willow gasped when Tara's hands moved over her chest, though there was no teasing or little love pinch along the way, just a gentle thoroughness.

_I adore you, _Willow thought to Tara. _More every second._

_You're very sweet, love, now try to relax and enjoy your bath._

"Yes ma'am," Willow murmured. The hint of sauciness in her voice, that glimpse of the old Willow, left a slow, crooked grin spreading across Tara's face.

She couldn't reach any lower than Willow's navel, and so the redhead let Tara fill her hands with soap, reaching down to quickly clean her groin, legs, and feet. While she was occupied washing the long wound on her right leg, Tara began to shampoo Willow's hair, massaging her scalp.

Willow's eyes drifted closed as she finished washing her foot, letting herself fall backward against Tara, her lower body relaxing into a float as the massage of her scalp continued. After Tara rinsed Willow's hair, cupping handful after handful of warm water over the auburn locks, Willow turned on her side, snuggling against her soul mate.

"You need to get clean too," she told Tara.

"I'm on it," Tara replied. She kissed Willow on the top of the head as she reached up and began shampooing her own hair.

"Soap," Willow demanded, holding up a hand.

"You should just relax, Will."

"Soap," she repeated, waving her hand.

"Okay," Tara laughed. She let a dollop of soap into Willow's hand and went back to scrubbing her own hair. As Willow hands moved over her face, down her neck, to her shoulders, Tara hands grew slower and slower, till finally they were just resting on the top of her head. Willow paused in her ministrations. "You're making it hard for me concentrate on shampooing, you know."

"It's nice to know I can still distract you," Willow teased softly. She washed Tara's chest, lingering just for a second before she dipped down to soap her stomach.

"I better finish from there," Tara replied, taking Willow's hands in her own and rubbing them to take the lather.

"That's no fun."

"Just being here with you is all the fun I need, Will."

"You're a wise woman, Tare," Willow sighed, leaning back against her lover's chest. "How did you get so wise?"

"Many days spent doing research, and, of course, many nights spent with the love of my life," Tara said. She dipped her hand down in the water to rinse off the shampoo, and stroked Willow's side.

"Days and nights, huh?" Willow asked.

"Especially the nights," Tara laughed.

"That's my girl," Willow said, sounding smug.

"Help me rinse my hair?" Tara asked.

Once both women were clean, they made their way gingerly out of the tub. They took turns drying each other with towels on their unwounded skin, followed by careful and delicate work with sterile pads to dry their damaged flesh. Tara bandaged Willow's wounds with slow and tender care, trimming gauze and tape to perfectly follow the path of each abrasion. When she was done, Willow bandaged Tara's wrists and gathered up all the wrappers, dropping them into the trashcan.

"All clean and bandaged," Willow said wistfully, giving Tara a little smile.

"Do you need me to get Buffy or Xander to carry you to the room?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," Willow chuckled.

Tara stood and pulled a robe off the back of the bathroom door and held it out to Willow.

"Why don't we see if we can make it on our own, then?" The blonde asked. "We should give the others some time to rest too." She helped Willow to her feet, helping to guide her arms into the thick sleeves.

"Okay, now your turn," Willow said. She kissed Tara and took a few shaky steps to the door, and then turned and held out another robe. "No one gets to see naked Tara. Naked Tara is private Tara."

"Nobody?" Tara asked, tying her robe shut.

"Well," Willow said, blushing and taking a step closer to Tara. "There is a simple mathematical equation that explains the situation perfectly."

"Math?" Tara replied, wrinkling her nose. "Really?"

"Hey, math can be good," Willow protested, taking another step. "You see it's very simple. Tara," she said, pointing at her lover, "Plus private time, equals Willow." She pointed at herself.

Tara laughed and pulled her lover into a hug, kissing her forehead. "That's the first time math's ever made sense to me."

"Glad I could help," Willow replied.

"You always help," Tara said. They held in their embrace for a long moment, but then Tara noticed that Willow was shaking, head to foot. "Are you okay?" She asked, pulling Willow closer.

"I'm just so glad you're here," Willow murmured.

"I'm glad you're here too." She closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to Willow's forehead. "So glad. Now, let's go to bed." Tara took Willow's hand in hers and looped it through her arm, then led the slender witch out into the hallway. "Just one step at a time, okay?"

"To the bedroom as in life," Willow joked, clinging to Tara's arm.

"Goddess I love to hear you happy," Tara replied, taking a careful step forward and pausing to let Willow catch up.

"Do I need to give you a another mathematical equation that explains the ratio of Willow happiness to Tara presence?" The redhead asked. The world swum for a moment and she rocked back on her heels.

"You're sure you're all right?" Tara asked urgently, tightening her grip on Willow's arm.

"A little tippy," Willow admitted.

"I've got you, love," Tara said softly. "Let's get you to bed."

Willow felt like a little old woman, bowed over, clutching to her lover's arm. She looked up at Tara and found the blonde smiling down at her. The sight of it flooded Willow with joy. She threw her arms around Tara's waist and they stopped there in the hall, just holding each other. After a minute they started walking again and took the last few steps to their bedroom. Once they were inside, Tara wordlessly slipped the robe off of Willow's shoulders, and then removed her own, throwing them over the desk. Tara walked Willow to the bed, helped her sit, and then went over and closed the bedroom door. She froze there, with the doorknob in her hand.

"Tara?" Willow asked. "You okay?"

"Yes," Tara replied, but her voice was shaking. She reached out and touched the wood molding that framed the door. Her hand slid along the smooth white-varnished surface, until she came to the large, splintered circle where Mears's bullet had hit the frame.

"Tara?" Willow repeated.

"This bullet killed me," she whispered hoarsely.

"No," Willow said. She stood up and stumbled over to the door, wrapping her arms around Tara. "It didn't happen. You're okay, baby. You're safe now."

"Because of you," Tara said, turning around in Willow's arms. She took her lover's face in her hands and kissed her softly. "Because of you." Tara pressed her forehead to Willow's. "Thank you."

"Let's lay down," Willow replied, walking them backward toward the bed.

"Okay," Tara said, nodding. "Be careful."

"You won't let me fall," Willow said with a little smile.

Tara remembered the site of bright red hair, streaking below the edge of the earth. It took everything in her not to shudder.

"Never," she replied.

They sat down on the bed side by side with their arms wrapped around one another, offering silent comfort. Every so often one would offer the other a soft, warm kiss.

"Can we lay like we did in the tub?" Willow asked, snuggling closer to Tara. "I want to hear your heart beating."

Tara smiled and smoothed Willow's hair, taming the little flyaway strands beginning to crop up as her hair dried. She reached back with her free hand and built up a stack of pillows, sliding back onto the bed and propping herself against them. Willow moved between her legs and Tara reached out, pulling the little redhead in close.

"Your favorite pillows," she teased as Willow snuggled down on to Tara's bosom with a little giggle.

"My favorite sound," Willow replied. "Dub-thump."

"We should sleep, baby," Tara said, stroking Willow's hair again and again. "Try to close your eyes and relax okay?"

Willow went quiet, but thoughts kept racing through her head. The two threads of her life, before and after the birthday wish, were blurring in her mind. So many things, terrible things, had happened in the days after Tara's death. There were things she had to do, steps that needed to be taken, if she was going to protect herself, her family, to try and stop her old life from being realized again. She held herself perfectly still, forced her breathing to go slow and even, in the hopes that Tara would think she'd dozed off so that the blonde would get some rest too.

"I know you're still awake love," Tara murmured, pressing a kiss to Willow's hair. "You have to let yourself sleep."

"I'm afraid to," Willow whispered.

Tara could feel the turmoil roiling in Willow's head like a storm. "I'll be here when you wake up, Willow, I promise." She took a deep breath. "This isn't a dream, Will. I'm really here."

"I always want you to be here, Tara."

"I always will be," the blonde replied, squeezing Willow gently. "Nothing will ever separate us again. I promise."

Willow shook her head, even as she held Tara tighter. "I can't hold you to that promise."

There was such sadness, a deep layer of despair in her words. "Willow?" Tara asked, voice trembling. "What's wrong? What is it, baby?"

"I have to leave, Tara." Willow said simply. "And I can't expect you to pack up and leave school to follow me."

"Leave?" Tara tried to sit up, but couldn't move under Willow's weight. "Why would you leave me, Willow?"

"No baby, no," Willow said quickly. "It's not like that." The slender redhead turned over and sat between Tara's legs, her chin on her knees. "There's a place, in England, where I can get help with the magics. There are meditative techniques that…that I've learned, but I need to go through that practice under the supervision of people powerful enough to stop me. To stop me if something goes wrong."

"You've been to this place before." Tara said. It wasn't a question.

Willow nodded. "Giles took me when—" She broke off, staring down at the bedspread.

"When I died," Tara finished.

Willow nodded again. "I don't know how long I'll have to be there. I don't expect you to give up your life for me."

"And that's where you're a dummy," Tara replied, reaching out to touch her lover's face. "My life isn't complete with you, Willow. Sunnydale, school, the Hellmouth, they'll all still be here waiting for us when we get back." She dropped her hand and stared into Willow's eyes. "Please, don't leave me behind."

Willow laid herself back against Tara's body. "I won't," she whispered, craning up for a kiss. "Thank you, Tara, for staying with me."

"Always," Tara replied. "I want to help you, Willow. I'll always be here when you need me."

They fell quiet again for a little while, Willow held safely in Tara's arms, warmed by the long, strong legs on either side of her body. She ran a hand, slow and light, up Tara's forearm to her elbow. The blonde's skin was so smooth, so perfect and soft. Willow let her cheek slide back and forth, ever so slightly, over the skin of Tara's breast. _It's like silk and velvet had a baby,_ Willow thought happily. She felt desire warm her and broke out in gooseflesh.

"I want to hear your heart beat," she murmured, brushing her cheek against Tara's breast again.

"It is darling," Tara murmured, kissing her hair. "Can't you hear it?"

"I want it to beat faster," Willow said in a low, sultry whisper.

"Faster?" Tara asked shakily, biting back a moan as Willow slid her hand down Tara's neck, past the curve of her breast, and down toward her hip.

"Uh huh."

"Is it faster now?" Tara asked as Willow's hand trailed back up again, to end up brushing gently through her hair.

"A little," Willow said. Tara could feel the curve of Willow's smile against her skin. Willow pressed her lips against edge of Tara's clavicle, brushed lightly with her tongue. "Still not fast enough."

"Willow," Tara began.

"Did I hurt you, baby?" Willow asked, pushing up off of Tara.

She looked so frightened. Tara quickly shook her head. "You didn't, Willow, you didn't hurt me at all. I just…I d-don't want you to push yourself to hard, love. You need to rest."

"I need you," Willow said. "But I can wait love, I know you're tired—"

She was silenced by the press of Tara's fingers against her lips. "I need you, too, Will. I need to feel every inch of you."

"Love you, Tara," Willow said, running her hand up Tara's side again, pausing to brush the underside of her right breast. The low groan Tara voiced in response made Willow smile.

"Love you," the blonde witch replied, leaning down to kiss her.

For a long time they held one another, kissing softly, just the warm press of lip on lip. Neither could've said which one began the light and delicious strokes of tongue, but soon they were kissing wildly, all their need communicated through their mouths, the slide of tongues, and the gentle nips of teeth. They touched each other in feather-light brushes, every moment of contact meant to comfort, to avoid causing one-another any pain. Willow kissed her way down Tara's neck, lovingly traced her collarbone, and then nuzzled back and forth as she settled back against Tara's chest.

"Oh, Willow," Tara cried, voice high and laced with pleasure as the redhead drew Tara's nipple into her mouth, sucking it gently as she brushed it with her tongue.

Willow's hand brushed up and down Tara's side, stroking her breast again and again as her mouth worshiped the blonde. Tara's heart was pounding wildly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran her hands up and down Willow's back. Still licking and sucking, Willow's hand slid down from Tara's breast, over the smooth skin of her stomach, the curve of her hip, parted golden curls into the wet wonder of her lover.

Pausing only to murmur her love again, Willow flicked her tongue against Tara's breast as she slid two fingers back and into her beloved's body.

Tara called out wordlessly, arching her hips into Willow's slow, gentle thrusts. Willow began to draw Tara into her mouth, brush her rock-hard nipple against her tongue, in time with each movement of her fingers.

As Willow loved her, Tara let her hands roam all over the redhead's body, the warm and smooth paradise of her skin. She let her hands move between their bodies, over Willow's breasts, brushing her nipples and then cupping both breasts in the palm of her hands. The sigh of delight that was Willow's reply sent amazing vibrations through Tara's chest. Tara alternated between caressing and gently kneading Willow's chest, moving her hands in the same rhythm that her lover moved within her.

When she couldn't bear waiting for another moment, Willow began to rock her hips in time with Tara's movements, hoping for some relief from the tension building in her. She felt one of Tara's hands slide down her stomach, brush along the inside of each of her thighs. Willow released her hold on Tara's nipple long enough to moan the girl's name, and took her in again just as the blonde's long, supple fingers cupped her mons. Willow gasped and Tara's hand stilled.

"Are you okay?" Tara asked, her voice high and breathy as she stilled her hips, fighting the urge to move against Willow's hand, the fingers curled so deliciously inside her.

"You didn't hurt me," Willow replied soothingly. "Tara," Willow repeated, looking up into her lover's eyes as she began to thrust into her again. "You didn't hurt me."

"Good," Tara groaned, moving her hips in time with Willow. "Oh, so good."

Willow's pace increased ever so slightly, the movement of her mouth, her hand, in response to the sensation of Tara's fingers slipping between her lips. She rocked her hips in rhythm with the gentle swirl of fingers around her clitoris, stretching up to crush her mouth to Tara's as the circle shrunk, tightened, rubbing over the most sensitive part of her.

Time seemed to still as they pleasured each other with utter tenderness, silent except for the occasional soft gasp. Neither girl could tell where her own pleasure ended and the pleasure of her lover began. As they loved physically, they loved mind-to-mind, soul-to-soul, silent cries of pleasure echoing. The tension in each of them began to build, Tara and Willow could both find themselves pulled, inexorably, toward sweet, aching release. As the passion and pleasure between them built higher and higher, they began to weep. But the tears caused no concern, no strain, because each felt the other's joy—joy that they were together, that they'd found their way back to one another, even through death itself.

As climax burned a fire through Willow and Tara, they shared a glorious refrain: _She lives, she is in the world, she lives, my love lives._

And then they slept, deep and dreamless, in the shelter of their embrace, in the knowledge that they were, and always would be, together.

END OF PART 1


	16. Chapter 16

Part Two—The War

_Chapter Sixteen_

Tara woke up to stillness, to the dark, and began to turn to her side, tensing as she waited for the bite of pain from the manacles around her wrists, the burning in her shoulders. Instead she felt the smooth cotton of sheets against her cheek, her arm, smelled the sweet, rose scent of Willow. _Home,_ Tara realized, _home in my own bed._ She let herself continue to shift, reached for the warmth of her lover, and found the bed empty, cold. Tara sat up convulsively; Willow's name a cry on her lips. As she breathed in, about to give voice to it, she saw the silhouette of her lover, framed by moonlight coming in through the window.

"Willow?" She asked softly, and her voice shook with relief. _She's here. We're together._ Willow didn't answer, and so Tara slipped from the bed, walking over to the window and sliding her arms around Willow's waist.

Tara felt the redhead jump, but then she relaxed back into her arms. "You okay?" She asked Willow softly.

"Hey baby," Willow replied.

She rubbed her cheek against Tara's cheek, but didn't take her eyes off the window. The sky was still dark, freckled with stars, but there was a hint of gray, a lightening at the borders of the sky. Another day dawning.

"Are you okay?" Tara repeated. "You should come back to bed and get some rest. We have a lot to do before our flight tomorrow."

"I'll come back to bed," Willow replied. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I just…I just wanted to honor the day."

"What day is it?" Tara asked. She pulled Willow closer, felt the slender woman trembling under her hands. "Will?"

It's May 9th," Willow whispered. "And you're here, in the world, with me."

_Two days since I would've died_, Tara realized. She pressed a kiss to Willow's cheek, felt a tiny answering smile shift the flesh beneath her lips.

"Yes," Tara told her. "Thanks to you, I'm in the world, and so in love."

Willow turned in Tara's arms and kissed tenderly, snaked her hands up into the blonde's hair. Tara returned the kiss with every bit of tenderness and passion she felt from her lover, slowly drawing Willow's lower lip between her lips, nibbling it and drawing a groan from the smaller woman.

"Back to bed," Willow gasped as they parted for air. "You said we should go back to bed."

"To sleep," Tara murmured, chuckling.

"Don't wanna sleep," Willow replied. She flexed her hands in Tara's hair, massaging her scalp, and pulled her in for another long, slow kiss. This time when they parted Tara was panting, her heart pounding in her chest.

"No sleeping," she agreed, and began walking them backward toward the bed, kissing Willow lightly with each step that she took.

"Bed," Willow said between one kiss and the next.

"Slowly but surely love," Tara laughed in a low voice, taking another step.

"No," Willow giggled, pulling them to a stop. "You're about to run into the bed." She pressed against Tara in a long, warm kiss, and then walked them one careful step backwards. "You can sit now."

Tara lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. She watched Willow slowly lower herself to her knees and slide her hands up under the oversized light cotton t-shirt Tara wore. The smooth warmth of Willow's touch moving up her thighs left Tara covered in gooseflesh, shivering.

"Are you cold, baby?" Willow teased.

"Do you think I'm cold?" Tara replied. She reached around Willow, pulling the slim redhead between her legs, groaning as those warm hands moved further up her thighs, to her stomach. The groan became a high gasp as Willow's hands slid up her stomach to cup her breasts, kneading gently.

"No," Willow breathed. "I think you're very, very hot."

"Willow," she panted, her hips rocking against the bed, against her lover's taut stomach, of their own accord, matching the rhythm of her hands. "Willow, come to bed."

"Shirt off," Willow said, nosing under the t-shirt, planting soft kisses on the firm flesh of Tara's stomach.

Tara couldn't do anything but comply. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and threw it blindly, biting back a moan as Willow leaned over to run her tongue up Tara's thigh, over her hip bone, still fondling her breasts. The redhead switched sides, flicking fast and light, so delicate, stroking Tara's nipples with her thumbs. Willow kissed her way down the inside of Tara's thigh, used gentle brushes of her cheeks, her lips, to nudge Tara's legs farther apart. Tara dropped her hands into Willow's hair, massaging her temples, the crown of her head, the base of her skull.

The slender redhead released Tara's breasts, pulled off her own night shirt, and wrapped her arms around Tara's waist, pulling her forward onto the edge of the bed. When Willow reached around to stroke the inside of her thighs, at the same moment she let her tongue slide into the soft velvet of Tara's heat, and Tara couldn't hold back the high cry that slipped from her. Willow locked her hands behind the small of the blonde's back, holding Tara upright as she arched against her lover's mouth.

Willow groaned at Tara's sweet taste, running her tongue in an ever-faster pattern, dipping inside of her, stroking up to the tender heart of her and back again. Tara murmured Willow's name over and over again, lost in the waves of pleasure that her girlfriend was sending through her body, building higher and higher until she was crying Willow's name with each breath. One hand brushed Tara's breast, her side, her thigh, and then Willow was inside her even as her tongue danced.

Tara bucked wildly, biting her lip to hold in the scream of ecstasy threatening to erupt. As she shook with the intensity of her orgasm Willow took her over the edge again, pulling Tara's thighs over her shoulders as the blonde fell back on the bed, replacing her fingers with her tongue and rocketing Tara through a third climax. Tara screamed out Willow's name and then the redhead was on top of her, kissing her passionately, rubbing their breasts together, skin burning.

She reached out and gripped Willow's bottom, grinding the redhead against her, let out a happy gasp as Willow's legs opened around her thigh. The wet heat of her was scorching. Tara let one hand move back and forth between her lover's pert and perfect breasts, mercilessly teasing her nipples, while the other slipped between their bodies, down past hip and thigh, to claim Willow's center.

"Tara," Willow breathed, trembling. "Tara, I love you."

"Love you, Will," Tara replied, never slowing her touch. "Always."

As she spoke, Tara rolled them, so that she was lying on top of Willow. She took her lover's breast into her mouth, licking and nibbling at the same furious pace that she'd set with her fingers, left Willow voicing high little moans, over and over as she scraped her nails gently up and down Tara's back. When Willow finally came, it was quiet, gentle, the redhead's delighted cries, her body's delicious trembling, the clenching against her skin, going longer than Tara could've believed possible.

"Wow," Tara said, pressing a kiss to her love's lips after Willow finally stilled, panting up at her with a smile.

"Wow indeed," Willow replied, reaching up to stroke Tara's cheek. Tara kissed her and then sat back. When she began to lift a leg over Willow's prone from the redhead reached up, pulling her closer. "No don't," she groaned. "Stay right here with me."

"Close your eyes," Tara murmured, leaning down to kiss Willow again. "And I'll be right back."

"I don't want to go to sleep," Willow protested.

"Who said anything about sleeping?" Tara asked mischievously. "Now, be a good Willow and close your eyes."

"Will I get a nice surprise?" She asked hopefully, closing her eyes and grinning up at Tara.

"You'll have to wait and see," Tara said. As she walked she trailed her hand down Willow's naked body, lighting brushing her skin. She smiled when the slender witch shivered and moaned.

Willow felt her nipples go rock hard again at the soft touch of her lover. When Tara's steps grew softer, more distant, and the pressure of her hand disappeared, she bit back a little groan of disappointment. Tara gave a soft chuckle in reply, but before Willow had time to protest she heard Tara rustling in a drawer, and then murmuring away, the sound of her steps coming closer again.

"Are you back, baby?" Willow asked happily.

"Right here love," Tara chuckled. "That's a good Willow, no peeking."

Willow felt Tara's fingertip, unbelievably warm and breathtakingly gentle, slide over the outer edge of her ear, down to her earlobe.

"Hmm," she sighed. "Tara, your hand is so warm, that feels good."

"I'm glad it felt good baby, but that's not my hand. No, eyes closed, remember?"

Tara's palm pressed over Willow's eyes before she could open them. Willow felt the warmth slide down her ear, to her neck, and then the sensation started again, moving across her forehead, back into her hair.

"Tara?"

"I'm going to oil you all up," Tara purred. "Would you like that, Willow?"

Willow swallowed thickly as she heard the slick sound of liquid pouring, being pushed between Tara's hands as she rubbed them back and forth.

"Uh huh," she gasped, body tensing as she waited for Tara to touch her.

"Relax baby," Tara said. Willow cried out, arching under Tara's hands as she rubbed her warm, oiled palms over her shoulders, down to cup her pert breasts. "Relax, we're going to take it nice and slow."

Willow took a deep, shuddering breath, letting her body relax back into the mattress, the pillows, as Tara's hands moved over her forehead, massaging her cheeks, her jaw, and moving up into her hairline. She caressed every inch of Willow's scalp, cradling her neck to rub the tension out of knotted shoulders. Willow couldn't help the little moans and groans of pleasure that Tara's ministrations pulled from her. She rubbed down Willow's neck, to her clavicle, skirting her breasts to carefully tend to Willow's arms, avoiding her tracks of wounded flesh.

Tara lavished oil on Willow's smooth stomach, massaging her ribs and abdominals with the perfect blend of tenderness and pressure, there was no hint of tickling. She made her way down Willow's legs and then tapped the underside of the slender redhead's calf.

"Flip."

Willow didn't hesitate. Still keeping her eyes closed, she moved onto her stomach, crying out with pleasure as she felt the warmth of Tara straddling her ass, her wet center moving slowly up and down as she rubbed Willow's hips, her back.

"Trapezius," Tara whispered, gripping the tense flesh running along the tops of Willow's shoulders, squeezing and releasing, rubbing fragrant oil into her flesh. After a few minutes, her hands moved down. "Deltoid," she said, smiling as Willow groaned with delight. "And rhomboid."

"I love it when you talk anatomy to me," Willow said, voice low and breathless.

_Thank the goddess for elective classes,_ Tara thought to herself. "Latissimus dorsi," she replied, moving her hands onto Willow's lower back, pressing from the tops of Willow's hips to the bottom of her shoulders in long, firm strokes.

"Oh," Willow groaned, "Love the latissi."

Tara then proceeded to remind Willow how much she loved her glutes too, slathering her hands with oil and then reaching back behind herself to knead Willow's firm little bottom. Each movement of her hands set her rocking against Willow's back, causing a delicious friction. When she finished with the gluteus muscles, Tara moved to her lover's hands. She took one of Willow's in both of her own, gently rubbing her thumbs into the girls palms, trailing out to caress and rub each of her lover's fingers.

"Oh yes, Tare," Willow cried. Tara had to bite back a gasp as Willow's hips began to move beneath her, arch up and then back against the bed, over and over.

Once Tara finished Willow's hands, she turned around, on her knees over Willow's back so she could reach her shapely, slender legs. Tara named each muscle group as she went; alternating firm, deep kneads with lighter caresses, leaving Willow trembling and gasping. When she finish with Willow's legs, Tara kissed her way down Willow's body, over her cheeks, down her thighs, gently flicking the back of her knees with her tongue. She wrapped her mouth on each of the redhead's Achilles tendons in turn; nibbling gently while her love squirmed and giggled beneath her. Tara repeated that treatment on her ankles, gently licking and sucking on the delicate skin there.

"Delicious," she murmured, planting a kiss on one ankle and then the other.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Willow murmured.

"Good," Tara replied, grinning as she reached for one of Willow's feet. She felt her lover tense and reached back with one hand to caress a firm cheek. "I promise this won't tickle."

"Kay," Willow said, voice high and sweet. Tara felt her lover relax back against the bed.

Tara took Willow's foot in both her hands; pressing into the soles with her thumbs in an echo of the treatment she'd given Willow's hands. When she was finished with her loving attention to the bottom of Willow's foot she went after her toes, gently tugging and stroking each digit. As Tara finished Willow's first foot and moved to the next, Willow began moaning again, rocking against the bed, murmuring Tara's name over and over. The instant Tara released Willow's foot, the slender redhead spun beneath her, flipping onto her back and sitting up to pull an arm around Tara's waist.

"What—" Tara began, and then gave a high, breathy cry as Willow's hand slipped under her and she was entered with two fingers. "Oh goddess, yes!"

"You're so hot and tight and wet," Willow groaned, pumping into her lover steadily, kissing up her spine. "Love you so much."

"Oh, love you, love you too," Tara said, bouncing lightly against Willow's hand. Her Willow. "It's all for you. You're s-so beautiful, Willow."

Within a matter of minutes Tara collapsed forward in shivery ecstasy, shifting onto her elbows, her knees, as Willow continued to move inside her. Willow slipped up and over, her feverishly hot chest and stomach sliding on Tara's back, making her cry out. She felt Willow press closer, felt the redhead trembling.

"I'm coming, Tara," Willow murmured in her ear, followed quickly by a protracted moan. "Just touching you, it makes me feel so good."

"Oh goddess," Tara groaned, feeling climax sweep over her.

When her orgasm hit it was absolutely earth shattering, building up from the tips of her toes and down from the crown of her head to run like a fork of lighting into her belly. Willow held her up as she cried out again and again. Tara fell to the bed, gasping for breath, and turned on her side, pulling Willow against her and kissing her tenderly.

"You're amazing," they sighed simultaneously. Both girls erupted in laughter, clinging to each other.

"I adore you," Tara said, kissing her lover's nose.

"You better," Willow teased. "Cause you're stuck with me."

"Promise?" Tara asked softly.

"I do," Willow said, nodding. She claimed Tara's mouth with a tender kiss, brushing her soft hand to Tara's velvet cheek. "I promise. I love you, Tara."

"And you know I love you," Tara replied.

"I do," Willow said, smiling even though she sounded a bit teary. She paused and bit her lip. "Are you still sure—" she began.

Tara pressed a gentle hand to Willow's mouth. "You're not allowed to ask me that anymore, remember? I'm coming with you, Willow. I want to go with you." Her eyes fluttered closed and she gasped as Willow kissed her way up the palm of Tara's hand and slipped Tara's finger into her warm, wet, mouth. "None of that, little vixen," Tara laughed, reluctantly pulling free as Willow pouted. "We have to get at least a tiny bit of sleep tonight."

"It's not tonight anymore, it's tomorrow," Willow teased, pointing to the early morning light streaming in their window."

"All the more reason to rest." Tara punctuated her sentence with another kiss to Willow's nose.

"Will you keep holding me?" Willow asked softly, pressing herself more firmly against Tara, letting her head come to rest on the blonde's shoulder.

"I'll never stop," Tara promised.

"Stop," Tara pleaded, pulling a sobbing Dawn into her arms. "Stop, please don't cry. Your flight is tomorrow morning."

After a brief nap in the early morning, Tara and Willow showered together, washing and then bandaging each other's wounds with tender care. The house was still quiet when they finished, and so they gathered a week's worth of clothing each, agreeing that they would buy toiletries when they reached England. Tara offered to make breakfast for everyone while Willow carefully folded their belongings to fit in the suitcase they shared. She'd just finished mixing the batter and pouring several pancakes on the griddle when Dawn ran into the kitchen and burst into tears.

"I don't want you to go without us," the dark-haired teen wailed, clinging to Tara. "Some big bad could attack you at the airport or on the plane, and we wouldn't be there to help you."

Tara made shushing noises, rubbing up and down the girl's back, until she finally began to quiet, sniffling occasionally. She made no signs of relaxing her hold.

"Dawn," Tara said softly. The teen's only reply was to squeeze tighter. "Dawnie? Look at me sweetie." Dawn relaxed her grip just enough so that Tara could look at her tear-stained face. "What is this all about? You know Willow and I will be fine."

Dawn's eyes widened and a tear slipped down each cheek. "No I don't," she said quietly, shaking her head. "What I know is that my mom had a successful surgery to remove a tumor and then she died. What I know is that a bullet killed you and then Willow saved you, but she almost died too. So did Buffy, Xander, and Anya when that demon attacked at the Magic Box." Dawn gave a little sob. "The only thing I do know is that bad things happen when we're apart."

"Oh Dawnie," Tara sighed, pulling the girl close again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry that things have been so hard."

She ran her hand down Dawn's hair, trying to find the words to comfort her, and came to the realization that the truth would be the best comfort, in the end.

"You're right, Dawn. Nothing in l-life is certain. But know that if it is up to us, Willow and I will never leave you."

"But—"

"I don't mean our flight to England," Tara replied with a wry chuckle, leaning back to wipe tears off Dawn's face. "I mean leave-leave."

"You mean die," Dawn said flatly.

"I mean die," Tara agreed softly. She let a small smile curve her cheeks. "We'll do our best to stay alive, Dawn, just like we all do every day."

"Being evil-fighters sucks sometimes," Dawn groaned, letting her head drop onto Tara's shoulder. "You're making pancakes?"

Tara's smile broadened at the hopeful note she heard in the teen's voice. Confident that the mini-crisis had passed, she patted Dawn on the back gently and then reached out with one hand to grab the spatula.

"I am, but we're going to have to stop hugging or they're going to burn."

"Oh don't you dare burn the pancakes," Dawn replied quickly, releasing Tara and stepping to the side. "Yummy pancake-y goodness is the only thing that is going to keep me sane and healthy until we're all back together again."

"Wow, my pancakes are more powerful than I thought," Tara laughed.

"Never underestimate the power of Tara pancakes," Willow replied happily as she walked into the kitchen.

"I really hope that wasn't innuendo," Dawn said staunchly, crossing her arms. "Because as much as I love you guys, I don't want to associate pancakes with Willow and Tara lovin'."

"Dawn!" Tara cried, spinning around. She saw the blush she felt creeping up her neck matched on Willow's face. "That's not what she meant. It wasn't, was it, Will?" Tara asked pointedly.

Willow's eyes widened, she was clearly fighting the urge to smile. "No!" She said seriously, shaking her head almost imperceptibly at Tara when she saw the blonde smirk. "No. I really just meant delicious fried floury goodies."

"Uh huh," Dawn grinned.

"You behave," Willow grumped. She walked across the kitchen and threw her arms around Tara's waist, watching as her lover lifted pancakes off the griddle onto the waiting plate. "You behave too," Willow murmured, kissing Tara on the cheek as she poured more batter.

"You know I'm very good," Tara purred in a low voice.

"Yeah," Willow squeaked.

"You better pour the juice before we scar Dawnie for life," Tara whispered.

"Juice patrol!" Willow cried spinning to rummage around in the cabinet for glasses. She grabbed four cups, and then thought better of it and grabbed two more. "I know Xander and Giles are coming over, but do you think Anya is going to come to see us off?"

"Xander told Buffy he'd be back this morning," Dawn said, grabbing plates and silverware. "I don't think he and Anya are going to come together though," she said sadly.

"You have to give that some time, Dawnie," Tara said, serving up another batch of pancakes and pouring her third. "We all know Xander still loves Anya, and even though Anya is too hurt to admit it right now, she loves him too."

"Sometimes love sucks as much as fighting evil," Dawn groaned. She grabbed a little stack of napkins and put them on top of the plates, hefting the pile. "I'm gonna go set the table."

"But not always," Willow said softly, setting down the orange juice and walking over to throw her arms around Tara's waist again. "Some love is really awesome."

"Totally awesome," Tara replied, chuckling as she flipped the last of the pancakes onto the plate and turned in Willow's arms. "You hungry?"

"I really am," Willow said solemnly. She took Tara's face in her hands and kissed her, sucking her lower lip between her teeth. After a moment they pulled apart gasping.

"I meant hungry for breakfast," Tara breathed.

"Naughty Tara," Willow teased. "That was very imprecise of you."

Tara nodded. "How ever can I make it up to you?"

"I need another kiss," Willow said, tongue slipping between the end of her teeth as she grinned.

Tara leaned in and pressed her lips to Willow's gently. After a moment, their arms snaked around each other again. They jumped apart guilty when Dawn's voice echoed through the house.

"The pancakes are going to get cold!"

"I need my smoochies," Willow murmured, brushing her thumb against Tara's lips. "But we shouldn't deprive the growing teen of food."

"I promise we'll smooch on the plane."

At the mention of their impending flight, Willow's face fell. It was only for a moment, but Tara saw the flash of fear and panic on her lover's face.

"What is it, Will?" Tara asked. "What's wrong?"

"She's right," Willow whispered, lowering her eyes to the floor. "Dawn's right." She felt haunted by the words she'd heard Dawn exchange with Tara, the teen's fear at what might happen if they weren't together. "We're stronger when we're all together, it's safer when we're together."

"Hey, hey," Tara soothed when Willow looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. "It's a day, love. There were only three seats open on today's flight, and we need Giles to introduce us to the coven."

"And then Buffy, and Dawn, and Xander will come tomorrow?" Willow asked plaintively. "They'll be safe?"

"Buffy's the slayer, Will," Tara replied, brushing a hand through Willow's bright hair, down to cup her silken cheek. "She'll take care of them. Okay?"

"Okay," Willow said softly.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Tara. You two okay?"

Willow spun around to see Buffy leaning in the entryway to the kitchen, watching them with a little smile on her face.

"Buffy—" she began, blushing.

"It's okay, Willster," Buffy said, walking past them to heft the plate Tara had piled with pancakes. "I have to admit I'm a bit worried about letting the three of you out of my sight. Who knows what kind of trouble you'll get into?"

"Very funny," Willow drawled, nudging her best friend in the side.

"Well, this laugh riot is going to take the pancakes into the dining room. You two better come out quick if you want to eat, Xander's here and he looks hungry."

"No stealing my pancakes," Willow laughed. "I'll get the syrup."

_Thank you_, Tara mouthed over Willow's head. The slayer gave just a hint of a nod and left them in the kitchen.

Breakfast was quick and quiet; the Scoobies discussed their plans for the days ahead in murmured voices, teased Xander about not packing a month's worth of Hawaiian shirts for the trip. When they finished eating, Buffy and Dawn insisted on washing the dishes since Tara cooked. Willow knew the sisters were still worn and strained from the terrible things they'd all experienced in the past few days, and so she didn't challenge their offer, she just hoped it would give them a chance to find some solace in family, in companionship.

"Well," I'm going to go take a nap on the couch," Xander announced. "Somebody wake me up when it's time to go to the airport."

"That sounds like a good plan," Tara said, and held her hand up over her mouth as she yawned. "I never sleep well on planes." She took Willow's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Will you come with me, love?"

"Of course, baby," Willow replied, kissing Tara's cheek. "We'll be upstairs, okay Xand?"

"Got it," Xander replied sleepily.

They'd just taken their first step up the stairs when the doorbell rang.

"Company," Tara said wearily, stepping back down to the floor. "We better get the door. It might be Giles, or Anya."

The doorbell rang again. "Or both," Willow replied, as an instant later someone began pounding on the door. The loud knocking was accompanied by an even louder voice, both powerful and strident. "Definitely Giles and Anya," she chuckled.

"We better let them in before Buffy thinks we're under attack."

Tara and Willow walked to the door together hand in hand. The blonde had a moment where she imagined them like Hansel and Gretel, wandering, all they were missing was the breadcrumbs to make their path back home. Her mouth twitched in a grin at the though of traditional Germanic costume, including the adorable, tassel-y lederhosen. And then were at the door. While Willow reached for the latch Tara leaned forward to look at the peephole.

"Just to be safe," Tara told her lover. She looked out and her perfect crooked grin appeared in an instant. It's them."

When Willow opened the door Anya pushed in past them, carrying a large jar in her arms, filled with swirling, apricot-colored liquid. Giles followed close behind with two more large jars of the same fluid.

"It's about time," Anya said, setting her jar on the coffee table with a sigh. "That thing is heavy. What took so long?"

"I would imagine that after the past few days, Willow and Tara were exercising some completely understandable caution." Giles spoke in a clearly strained voice, but shook his head when Tara held out her arms for a jar. Instead he took two quick, long strides to the table and sat them down. "Very sensible, girls," he praised.

"How is it that you two get praised for not opening a door while we were outside waiting, holding very heavy things," Anya said, slowly working the stopper out of a bottle. "While I've gotten no praise at all for creating Araucaria blood balm to sooth your wounds?"

"Now Anya," Giles began, sounding exasperated, "I did tell you—"

"You made what for who?" Willow interrupted, looking bewildered. "And out of what now?"

"This," Anya replied, sweeping a hand toward the table, "Is Araucaria blood balm. Guaranteed to accelerate healing with little to no scarring. I could sell this stuff for three hundred dollars an ounce, but it's all for you."

"I'm sure we all appreciate your generosity, Anya." Giles replied wryly.

"Joke all you like, tweedy man," Anya snapped. "Have you forgotten that the Magic Box is wrecked? There's only so much of that I'll be able to charge the Watcher's Council for."

"M-Maybe we won't need it all?" Tara asked softly, hoping to diffuse the fight. She felt sleep pulling at her, like a weight seeped under her skin, tugging on her bones. "Then you could sell the rest."

"I don't think I want to put anything on me made of blood," Willow murmured to Tara.

Tara understood her hesitance, but she couldn't bear the thought of Willow living with the scars that dark magic had put on her body. For that matter, her own wrists were a ruin, and she didn't want to be reminded of Warren Mears every time she looked at her hands for the rest of her life.

"Will," she said softly. "I think we should try it. Please, for me?"

Willow looked at Tara, clearly surprised, but nodded. "Of course, baby," she said, reaching out a gentle hand to rub Tara's back.

"That's right. You listen to your girlfriend," Anya replied. "Sometimes I think she's the only person besides me with a brain around here. Now," she said forcefully, picking up a jar and thrusting it toward them. "You share this jar, I bought some little plastic travel bottles and I'll fill those with more. In two days, not one or three but two, you'll treat with it again, okay?"

"Okay," Willow agreed, surprised by the emotion she heard lacing the demon's voice. She reached out and gave Anya hand a little squeeze. "We'll use it, Anya. Thank you."

"Well, you're welcome," Anya said softly, a little smile curved her cheeks. After a few seconds it disappeared and she waved her hands at them, rolling her eyes. "Go on, now. You have to leave for your flight soon and believe me, you'll have a much easier time getting through security if you're not bandaged up like victims of a war crime. Believe me," she said darkly. "I'm speaking from personal experience."

"And on that note, we'll be heading upstairs," Willow said, grabbing Tara's hand and leading her up the staircase to their bedroom. As they climbed, they could both hear Anya begin an attempt to regale Giles with the tale of her old airport adventure.

The girls settled onto the bed with the jar between them. "This might sting a bit," Tara told Willow, staring down at the swirling, pearlescent fluid. "I'm not as bad, I'll go first."

Willow thought about protesting, but saw the glint of determination in her lover's eye and knew Tara wasn't going to budge on that point. She nodded her head and removed the loosened stopper, setting it on the floor. Tara slowly unwound the bandages from around her wrists, revealing the torn and bruised skin beneath them. The redhead dipped her fingertips into the jar and coated them with the medicine.

"Tingly," she murmured. She reached out and let some of the liquid land on Tara's right arm.

"Oh," Tara said. A strange look crossed her face and Willow began to pull back, but Tara reached out with her free hand to stop her. "It's all right," she told Willow. "It doesn't hurt, it just feel a bit strange." Tara wasn't sure how to describe the sensation, something part way between heat, gentle stretching, and a mild itch.

"You're sure?" Willow asked in a tiny voice. "I don't want to hurt you, Tara."

"I promise," the blonde replied. She leaned in and kissed Willow's cheek. "We better hurry before Anya comes up here to check on us."

Willow pressed her slathered hand to Tara's wrist, leaving the whole of it slathered in the balm. She dipped into the jar again and covered Tara's other wrist, and then reached up to coat her bruised cheek. When she was finished they sat, and they waited. At first there was no difference, but after a few minutes the sensation of warmth on Tara's skin increased, and she noticed the pain from her bruised face begin to fade.

"Your face looks better," Willow told Tara happily, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "The bruise is almost gone, you'd never notice if you weren't looking for it. How do your wrists feel?"

"Much better," Tara replied, twisting her arms to look at her own wrists.

The bruises, the ache from strain, both began to fade as the reddened flesh around the edges of her torn skin smoothed. The deepest swaths of wounded flesh scabbed over as they watched, and then that hardened layer cracked, flaked away, leaving a band of pale pink scar tissue on each arm.

"Wow," Willow breathed, reaching out to rub a gentle hand over Tara's skin. "That's amazing."

"We owe Anya a pretty big thank you," Tara agreed. "Two days and no more scars," she said wistfully, looking up at Willow with a little smile.

_Not ones we can see, anyway._ Willow thought. "No more scars," she told Tara, reaching out to cup her flawless face.

"Let me help you," Tara said, reaching out and scooping up a mound of the clinging fluid.

In a sweet and innocent echo of their passionate lovemaking that morning, Tara rubbed the balm into Willow's forehead, trailing down her injured cheek to her neck. As Tara massaged away, Willow let her eyes close, trying to enjoy the warmth of her lover's hands, even as she worked to ignore the stretch and tingle of her skin knitting itself back together. By the time her arms were finished, Willow could feel the tension ease out of her face. Tara massaged her fingertips, slow and careful, clearly taking pains not the cause her lover any discomfort. Lastly she tended to the deep, winding wound on Willow's leg, dipping into the jar again and again as she slathered the apricot liquid on Willow's skin.

When she was finished, the jar was nearly empty. Willow sat it on the floor and pulled Tara into her arms.

"Thank you for helping me," she said softly, kissing Tara's golden hair.

"You helped me too," Tara replied, wrapping her arms around Willow. The blonde witch took a deep breath, let out a shaky sigh. "I'm so relieved to be able to touch you without worrying that I'll hurt you."

"I didn't mean just with the potion," Willow murmured.

"I know," Tara said softly.

Willow and Tara embraced in silence, hands wandering the pathways of new and tender flesh, each woman praying that the other would be truly and completely healed in two days' time when they could finish the treatment Anya had prepared. They were still, but for their gentle caresses, until they heard Buffy's distant call that it was time to leave for the airport, to being their journey to the coven.

"Time to fly," Willow whispered.

30


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter Seventeen_

The bed was shaking. Willow tried to roll over, to be closer to Tara, and banged her elbow on a hard, plastic object. _In the bed,_ Willow thought dimly, _the earthquake knocked something off the wall and into the bed._

"Tara, baby," Willow groaned. "Careful, the tremor knocked something down with us."

"Tremor?" Tara asked.

Willow struggled out of sleep. Tara was amused. She could hear the laughter in her lover's voice, like sparkles of light. But earthquakes weren't funny—they were serious, especially if things were falling into their bed.

"It's an earthquake, baby," Willow said solemnly, rubbing her eyes. "Something fell into the bed. Don't wiggle. No more bumps for my baby."

There was another rumble and Tara giggled. "There's no earthquake, Will."

"It's rumbling right now," Willow pouted, eyes still closed.

"We're taxiing, love," Willow felt a kiss pressed to her hair. "We're on an airplane, remember?"

Willow's eyes snapped open. Tara was looking down at her, grinning that perfect, crooked smile. There was a thin blue blanket draped over the pair of them, and Willow saw a matching pillowcase corner pressed against Tara's peaches and cream skin. Which meant—

"We're on a plane?' Willow asked. She reached beneath her head and pulled the pillow away, snuggling into the warmth of Tara's shoulder.

"We're on a plane," she agreed softly, wrapping her arms around Willow and kissing her hair again. "That Dramamine really kicked your butt, huh?"

Willow felt a blush creep into her cheeks. "I'm sorry I got sick," she told Tara, her stomach clenching as the plane gave a little lurch.

A few hours into the flight they'd been offered drinks and sandwiches. Fifteen minutes after that Willow had become acquainted with her sandwich and grape soda again, under far less pleasant circumstances.

"Your tummy still bothering you, love?" Tara asked, reaching out to stroke Willow's stomach.

"I think I'm sore from the hurl-a-thon," Willow said miserably.

"Do you want me to stop?" Tara stilled her hand.

"No," Willow said quickly, pressing her lover's hand in place. "You make it better." There was an ache in her chest that had nothing to do with her bout of motion sickness. "You make everything better," Willow whispered, blinking back tears.

"I'm right here, Willow," Tara replied. She let her hand begin its gentle motion again. Willow looked so small, so frightened, that Tara couldn't bare it. She reached down and unclipped Willow's seatbelt, pulling the slender witch into her lap. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I love you, Tara," Willow breathed, curling against the blonde's body and burying her face in the girl's crook of the girl's neck. "Love you so much."

"I love you too." They were jostled a bit as the plane turned ponderously. Willow gave a little squeak. "We're almost to the terminal. The plane'll stop rocking in a minute, love."

"I should have my seatbelt on, shouldn't I?" Willow asked. "You're going to get in trouble if the stewardess sees us."

"I'll take my chances," Tara laughed, pulling Willow closer. "Goddess help any flight attendant who tries to interrupt my snuggle time."

"I'm in love with a rebel," Willow teased, leaning back to grin at Tara. "When did you become such a rebel?"

"I must've gotten it from Buffy," Tara deadpanned, planting a kiss on Willow's cheek. "Can you catch rebel?"

"It must be so," Willow replied, turning her head to capture Tara's lips. When they parted both girls were smiling. "Remind me to thank her when I see her."

At the thought of her absent friend, Willow felt a spike of worry. She pressed her forehead against Tara's, basking in the warmth of her.

"It won't be long," Tara soothed, rubbing her hand on Willow's back to help ease the tension she'd felt roll through her lover. "They'll be in the air in a few hours."

"Kay," Willow breathed.

The plane gave one last lurch and then the pilot's voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing their arrival at the terminal. All the other passengers around them hopped to their feet, pulling down luggage and scurrying towards the exit into the airport.

"There's no rush," Tara said gently, pulling Willow closer when she felt the redhead stir. "Giles was almost two-thirds of the way down the plane, remember?"

"The old softie," Willow giggled.

Upon their arrival at the Santa Barbara airport, Giles had advised them that he could only get two first-class seats. The watcher had ignored both offers and protests, insisting that Willow and Tara take the first-class seats so they could be together. That left him sandwiched in a center seat between two perfect strangers.

"It was nice of him," Tara corrected, rocking Willow gently. "He cares about you, Willow. He just wants you to be happy."

"He loves you too, you know," Willow said firmly, looking her girlfriend in the eye. "You're one of his little Scoobies too."

"I know," Tara soothed.

When the front of the cabin had emptied out, Willow reluctantly climbed out of Tara's lap so they could leave the plane. They'd checked their shared suitcase, so Tara's messenger bag—a small, khaki, army-surplus satchel she'd festooned with beads and ribbon remnant—was the only thing they carried on with them. The little bag held their passports, identification, and traveler's checks, so Tara wore it slung over her neck, cradled next to her body.

"Come on, Willow," she said, holding out a hand and leading her love out of first class and off the plane.

As soon as they entered the tunnel connecting the plane to the terminal, both women shivered. A cold, biting wind slipped through the gaps in the accordion-creased structure.

"Welcome to England," Giles announced. The watcher stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall. "We can look for coats or sweaters for the both of you in the gift shops past the terminal. In the meanwhile we really should get a move on."

"Will any of the shops be open yet?" Tara asked, taking Willow's hand and failing into step next to Giles as they headed into the terminal.

"I'd forgotten how late it is," Giles answered, pulling out a pocket watch to check the time. "Or how very early, I suppose, with the time change. Half past ten California time, so it's only 6:30 in the morning. Well, some of the shops are bound to be open twenty-four hours. We'll have to hope they sell coats."

"I'll keep you warm," Willow said in a whisper, wrapping her arm around Tara's waist.

Tara gave Willow a little squeeze, brushing her hand over the redhead's side as they strolled into the main thoroughfare. Even with the late hour, the airport was bustling with people. Little clusters formed and parted as travelers queued for coffee and sandwiches, taking turns guarding luggage for loved ones who needed to use the restroom.

It was Willow's first time in the London airport. The memories of her first visit were thick, fogged. She remembered being taken from a charter jet to a helicopter waiting on the runway, the roar of the propellers dimmed by Giles' stony silence. _It won't happen_, Willow thought. _It never happened now._

Willow pushed the thought aside and eyed the coffee shop, wondering if she could convince Giles and Tara to let her stop long enough for a mocha. Now that they were back on solid ground her stomach was beginning to realize how long ago breakfast at the Summers house had been. Her stomach growled and she clapped her free hand over it, trying to muffle the noise.

"You okay, Will?" Tara asked.

"A little hungry," Willow replied sheepishly.

Tara stopped in her tracks. "We can't have that."

Giles took a few steps before he realized Tara and Willow were no longer beside him. He gave a bemused grin and shook his head as he watched the blonde witch lead her red haired lover into the coffee line.

"Are we taking a break already?" He asked, walking up to them.

"Willow's hungry," Tara replied. "She hasn't had any food since we left this morning, she needs to eat."

"Well I had food," Willow said quickly, noticing the puzzled look on the watcher's face. "But it didn't stay, if you catch my meaning."

"Quite," Giles murmured, pulling out a handkerchief to clean his glasses. "I'm glad you're feeling better. "Let's eat and then get going, please?"

"Sure," Willow said softly. He walked over to the tables set up in front of the shop and sat. She looked over at Tara and saw her casting a nervous glance the watcher's way. "It's okay, he just wants to get to the coven."

"He's scared, Willow," Tara replied.

"It's been a scary few days," Willow said, pressing still closer to Tara. She could feel the weight of the years she'd lived without Tara like a coal in her stomach. She didn't want to think about that possible future, but knew that Giles was thinking of nothing else. Sooner or later she would have to tell them, tell them all that the world was about to end. Again.

"Willow?"

The concern in Tara's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "Baby?" Willow asked, looking into her lover's worry-darkened eyes.

"I asked if you wanted peanut butter and jelly or egg salad?" Tara asked, holding up two different pre-packaged sandwiches.

"Definitely peanut butter," Willow replied.

Tara bought three sandwiches—two peanut butter and jellies, and a ham and cheese for Giles. Willow ordered the drinks, a mocha for the red head, a large earl grey for Giles, and a hot chocolate for her lover. When the drinks were ready, they put everything onto a tray and joined Giles at the table.

"Thank you, girls," the watcher told them, taking the offered food and drink. "You were sure to use the travelers checks?"

Tara nodded, taking a bite of her sandwich and chasing it with a long sip of hot chocolate.

"Best airport food that watcher council funds can buy," Willow said, taking a drink from her steaming cup. "Mmm, mocha."

"Yes I'm sure they'll be happy to buy coats and our rental car as well," Giles said with a tense smile. "Eat up."

Tara finished half of her sandwich and then set the other half aside, watching Willow and Giles eat. They could've been father and daughter with the matching worried furrows that lined their brows. They both had circles under their eyes as well. As she watched, Willow stretched with a huge yawn before taking another bite of her sandwich.

"Giles," Tara said softly, coming to a sudden decision. "Can we stay in London tonight?" Her hands trembled, clasping the warm cup of hot chocolate.

The watcher's eyes widened and he sputtered a bit on his tea. "We really do need to get to Devon, Tara."

Willow could hear the clear concern in both their voices. She kept her gaze on the sandwich in her hands, but didn't take another bite, instead taking a long deep breath so her stomach wouldn't begin to roil again.

"I'm t-tired," Tara explained, groaning inwardly at the stutter that marred her speech. "I think it would b-be better for us to rest for a day or t-two, recover our strength."

"Tara," Giles began, failing to hide the hint of impatience in his voice. "I don't—"

"Please," Willow interrupted. She looked up from the sandwich and into the watcher's blue-gray eyes. "Just give us a day, Giles. We'll rest, and we can pretend to be tourists for a few hours." _Pretend to be normal for a few hours_, she thought sadly.

Giles looked between them both for a moment, and then nodded. "Of course," he said softly. "Of course. Forgive me; you've both been through so much. It'll be fine to take a day—you'll need your strength for the coven's training. It gets a bit…" he trailed off.

"It gets intense," Willow finished, giving Tara's hands a reassuring squeeze.

"Intense, yes," Giles replied. "While you two look for coats I'll find us a hotel and call the coven to let them know about the change in our itinerary."

"Thank you, Giles," Tara murmured, a little smile brightening her face.

"Of course you're welcome, dear girl, but please accept my apologies." Giles pulled off his glasses and began to polish them furiously. "I should've have pushed you both so hard. I must confess, being in London is a bit unsettling for me. Reminders of…the old days."

_The Ripper days,_ Willow thought. "Maybe we should just go—" She knew what it was like to have to look your demons in the face, watch them laughing back at you. Willow didn't want to put Giles through that.

"No, I insist," Giles said firmly. "We'll rest tonight, you two can see the sights tomorrow, and then by the time we settle in for a second's night rest Buffy and the others will have joined us."

"We can all go to the coven together," Tara said, gripping Willow's hand.

"That would be nice," Willow sighed. She took another long swallow of mocha and attacked her sandwich with renewed vigor.

Willow finished her food and bought a second mocha before Tara and Giles finished their food. When their sandwiches were done, they continued on towards the shops, nursing their drinks. In the end, they only found two places open. The first shop had jewelry and a small section of new and rare books, much to Giles' delight. After a few minutes searching, they found a knee-length wool Burberry coat with military buttons that fit Tara like a glove. The only other cold-weather gear they had for women was a heavy, hand-knit gray sweater.

And suddenly Willow was sitting on the moor, windswept and freezing, working to feel the pull of the earth, the life flowing through it, as she called a flower through the ground. The warmth, the peace of that life force had still not been enough to fill the cold emptiness that Tara's loss had left behind. Nothing ever had.

"Not this one," Willow said quickly, sliding the sweater back onto the rack. "I don't like it."

"Well, that just leaves…" Tara trailed off, hitching a thumb over her shoulder.

"I know," Will replied, forcing a smile. "Thank goodness I like Disney."

"I don't know why they have a Disney store in a London airport anyway," Tara said, slipping on her new coat while the cashier processed their check.

"It's a mystery," Willow agreed, murmuring her thanks to the cashier as she took Tara's hand and led her toward the exit.

"We'll be back in a minute, Giles," Tara called, looking back over her shoulder.

"Take your time," the watcher replied. He was pouring through a large, leather bound book, looking relaxed for the first time since their arrival.

"Are you feeling okay?" Tara asked as they walked across the broad aisle toward the Disney store. "You look a little pale."

"It's—I'm okay." Willow paused, sighed. "It's just a little hard, being here."

"Bad memories?" Tara asked, squeezing Willow's hand gently.

She nodded. "Little reminders of…of when we weren't together. I don't like to think about it."

Tara stopped them right in the middle of the walkway and pulled Willow into her arms, holding her close and kissing her on the forehead.

"We're together, Willow."

"Thank the goddess," the redhead replied.

"I do, every second of every day. "Now come on," Tara said, giving Willow's back a caress before taking her hand and heading toward the store again. "You need something warm to wear."

"Yes ma'am," Willow replied, smiling as she let her soul mate lead her to the shop.

"Hello dears!" A voice said loudly and brightly as soon as the entered the store. "How can I help you this fine morning?" An older woman, brown hair streaked with gray, stepped out from a side room, smiling.

"It's Mary Poppins!" Willow squeaked.

"It is a good likeness, isn't it?" The clerk said cheerfully, looking down at her outfit. "You should see the young clerk they have dress as Burt. He's a dead ringer for Dick van Dyke."

"You're adorable," Tara breathed in Willow's ear, overcome with adoration for the bouncing, childlike excitement of her soul mate. Willow blushed.

"Are you dears looking for a particular souvenir? We specialize in all the merchandise from the Disney films set in Britain. We even have one of the prop knobs from Bedknobs and Broomsticks."

"I love that movie," Willow said eagerly. Tara chuckled and the red head flushed again. "We were hoping you might have some jackets or sweaters?

"Hmm," Mary Poppins said, biting her lip. "Most of our clothes are for children. It's for you?" She asked, gesturing to Willow. When the redhead nodded the clerk clapped her hands together. "We'll you're such a little slip of a thing, I'm sure we can find something for you."

"Thank you Ma—" Willow began. _I can't call her Mary Poppins!_

"The name on her tag says Ethel," Tara murmured.

"Thank you Ms. Ethel," Willow finished, flashing her lover a grateful smile.

"You're both perfectly welcome," Ms. Ethel replied. "Right this way."

The clerk led them past a room full of porcelain figures and innumerable globes filled with various Disney characters and brilliant with sparkling flecks, into the back where the walls were lined with stuffed animals in all shapes and sizes.

"Wow," Willow said, looking around, wide-eyed. "This must be every kid's dream department."

"And every parent's nightmare," Tara laughed, steering Willow away from a display of Flower the Skunk toys to look in the rack of clothes in the center of the room.

"It can be difficult for parents to get the little ones out of the shop," Ms. Ethel agreed. "They do get ever so excited."

"I can imagine," Tara replied, looking fondly at her lover, who was still totally distracted by the plethora of toys.

After a few minutes hunting through the rack, Ms. Ethel found two lighter pieces that, together, would likely be enough to keep Willow warm and toasty. At first she protested the choice, but Tara trained those baby blues on her and she melted.

"Fine," Willow sighed, holding out her hands. "I'll try them on."

"I'm sure they'll look lovely dear," Ms. Ethel replied, handing her the clothes with a smile. "The changing room is in the corner. You can go in with her if you'd like," she told Tara.

"Thank you," Tara replied, taking Willow's arm. "Come on, sweetie."

"Kay," Willow said, snuggling close.

As they slipped into the dressing room, Tara leaned even closer to Willow and whispered to her, warm breath tickling Willow's ear.

"I love you in grass green, Will. And the cream sweater will look completely adorable with it."

"Yeah," Willow said reluctantly. "But Tinkerbelle?" She asked, holding up the green, long-sleeved thermal shirt. A ten-inch Tinkerbelle graphic dominated the center, looking coquettishly over her shoulder between her silvery wings.

"As long as you remember your happy thought," Tara breathed, pressing a kiss to Willow's cheek.

"Always," Willow said, turning her head to steal a kiss.

"Let me help you with this," Tara said, her warm hands slipping up under Willow's t-shirt.

"Ooh, okay," Willow said, leaning back against her.

Tara stroked Willow's stomach gently and then eased the t-shirt upwards, nudging the underside of the redhead's arms so she'd lift them.

"That was quick help," Willow said, pretending to pout even as she raised her arms above her head.

"I don't think we can get frisky in a Disney store dressing room with Mary Poppins waiting for us outside, darling," Tara laughed.

"I guess that's true," Willow replied, pulling her head through the neck of Tinkerbelle shirt. Before she could pull her arms all the way through the sleeves, Tara wrapped her arms back around Willow's waist, pressing a kiss to the curve of her ribs.

"Yummy Willowskin," she purred.

"Tara," Willow squeaked, freezing. "I thought we were going to behave?"

"You're right, you're right," Tara sighed, freeing Willow's hands from her sleeves and pulling down the shirt. "How about I help you out of it later?"

"That would be good," Willow groaned.

Both women jumped when Ethel's voice rang through the space. "How are you making out in there, dear?"

Willow's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. She looked at Tara and mouthed, _she knows_, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

"She just wants to know if the shirt fits, Will. We're doing fine so f-far, thanks," Tara called to Ethel.

"I knew that," Willow giggled, high and breathless. "How do I look?" She asked, turning in a little circle.

"Adorable," Tara said.

"I think it's a little snug."

"Like I said, adorable," Tara quipped, running her hands over Willow's slim waist. "Try it with the fleece."

Willow slipped on the cream-colored jacket, plain except for a tiny silhouette of Mickey Mouse embroidered in platinum thread. It was a little loose, leaving plenty of room to zip the jacket up. She slid her hands into the pocket built into the front of the jacket.

"How does it feel?" Tara asked.

"Nice and toasty," Willow chirruped.

"Perfect."

They bought both pieces. Tara sent Willow back into the dressing room to change into her new clothes so she wouldn't catch a chill on the way to their hotel. When Willow came out, Tara had a bag ready, taking her t-shirt. They offered their thanks to Ethel and headed back to the other shop.

"Very fetching," Giles said. The watcher was leaning against the wall outside the shop, holding a plastic bag.

"Thank you," Willow replied.

"Well, now that we're properly kitted out, we should head to the hotel for some shuteye. Try not to sleep too terribly long, it'll just exacerbate the jet lag."

"Where are we staying?" Tara asked as they walked toward the baggage claim, moving carefully against the current of travelers headed toward the gates.

"The watcher's council has been kind enough to put us up at the Mandarin Oriental in Hyde Park. It just happens to be the nicest hotel in London. $1,794 GBP per night, each, for suites overlooking the park."

"The least they could do," Willow chuckled.

"Indeed," Giles agreed.

The trio made their way to the baggage claim and picked up Willow and Tara's suitcase, then Giles led them out to where a private car was waiting. Willow and Tara exchanged tired but amused glances, both knew Giles must be delighting in spending as much watcher council money as he could get away with on their journey. The driver, a quiet, polite, elderly man took them to the hotel with smooth and speedy precision. The early morning traffic was hectic, but the driver seemed to know every back road through the city.

A half dozen red-coated doormen in top hats were waiting outside when they arrived, moving around them in a blur, opening doors and offering hands of assistance that were politely declined all around. They agreed, in the end, to let one of the anxious men take their luggage, while another ran ahead to call the elevator. A third man, after a brief, murmured conversation with Giles, led the trio through the hotel to their rooms. Giles had the first suite, overlooking the hotel's courtyard. It was a palatial, open space with two separate seating areas, a kitchen, dining table for two, and an enormous king-sized bed.

"Wow, Giles," Willow breathed, "Nice digs."

"Yes, I suppose they are…nice digs," he replied wryly. He threw his trench coat onto the dining room table and locked the suite. "I'll come with you to make sure you're settled in."

Willow gave Giles a grateful smile, knowing that the watcher wanted to make sure he could find them in case of any natural or supernatural emergency. The hallway they traveled had its bends and turns, but no main branches off the paths as they approached the far side of the hotel.

"Your suite, ladies," the hotel representative said with a bow, stopping in front of a door even more ornate than the one to Giles' room. The watcher took the suitcase with a word of thanks, and the bellman held out a plastic key card.

Tara took the key from the man's hand, slipping it into the lock and opening the door.

"Please do let us know if there's anything else you need," the bellman told Giles.

"Yes, thank you. That will be all for now." The bellman dipped his head and walked quickly back down the hall. "Aren't you going to open it?" Giles asked Willow and Tara bemusedly.

Tara gripped Willow's hand and gave the door a push. Both young witches gave out a gasp. Giles's room was large, even extravagant, but their suite was huge and—there was no better word for it—opulent.

"It's the largest suite in the hotel," Giles said, waving them into the room. They stepped inside the doorway, leaving just enough room for Giles to stop in after them and close the door.

"M-Mister Giles," Tara began. It wasn't a hotel room. It was a large apartment, a small house, which had been decorated in Victorian antiques. The combination of lush furniture and lighting made the room look like something out of a magazine. "Th-This is—"

"It's not too much," Giles said kindly. "As I've been recently reminded, we've all been through a great deal the past few days, and you deserve a bit of rest and care. I only wish I could let you stay here for a month, or a year."

"It's two nights more than we were expecting, Giles," Willow said softly. 'Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Yes, well," he murmured, neck flushed. "As you can see, you have a dinging and sitting area here. The hall to the right goes to a small kitchen with a fully stocked pantry, and the bedroom is at the end of the hall. You have a suite-wide view of Kensington Gardens. I'm sure you'll find it enjoyable. There are robes and towels in abundance, and you should find a few sets of flannel pajamas in the closet. It's a bit chilly this time of year to out on the balcony otherwise."

"We have a balcony," Willow whispered to Tara.

"I heard love," Tara said, smiling gently.

"I'm going to head back to my room," Giles said, taking a step backwards. "Try not to sleep past ten or eleven. I know it's late, but otherwise the jet lag will just linger."

"Goodnight, Giles," Tara said. She stepped over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "And thank you again."

"Of course, goodnight girls."

"Night," Willow said, waving, as Giles stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed.

"Wow," Tara said softly, staring into the room. She slipped off her coat and tucked it under her arm. "Th-This is gorgeous, right?"

"No," Willow replied matter-of-factly. "You're gorgeous, but the suite is nice. Let's take a look around." Willow took Tara's hand and led her off the stoop into the sitting area.

The couch and chairs looked to be Victorian antiques, high-backed and upholstered in silver-gray fabric with a dark wood trim along the back, with matching arms and legs. There was a small matching coffee table between them. Tara imagined cuddling on the sofa with Willow, teapot and porcelain cups steaming on the little, intricately carved table.

"I promise some snuggles on the sofa, later," Willow breathed in Tara's ear.

The blonde jumped, then grinned and gave Willow a gentle swat as the redhead smirked at her.

"I'm a mind reader, huh?" Willow teased.

"You forgot the tea," Tara replied, taking Willow's hand again. "You can't snuggle properly without tea."

"Is that a British rule?" Willow asked, tugged Tara into her arms, grabbing the coat from under her lover's arm and tossing it onto the couch.

She nodded. "Part of the bi-laws they covered on the plane while certain gorgeous red haired women were asleep."

"Missing my first crucial England experience," Willow sighed, clucking her tongue. "For shame. You know what else I've never experienced?" She asked, pulling Tara even closer.

"What's that?" Tara asked, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks as Willow's hands slipped under her shirt, caressing the small of her back.

"I've never made love to my soul mate in London before," Willow said, and then she gave a little gasp as Tara pulled her into a blisteringly passionate kiss. "Wow," she whispered as the blonde leaned back.

"It was very thoughtful of Giles to get his own room," Tara said in a low, smoldering tone.

"Speaking of which, we haven't finished our tour," Willow said brightly. She released Tara's waist and took her hand again, tugging her toward the window.

"What happened to lovin' in London?" Tara asked, sounding both puzzled and amused.

"Anticipation's half the fun," Willow said, pulling back the curtains with her free hand. "Would you look at that?" She asked Tara.

"Look at what?" Tara was more puzzled than ever. "You didn't turn around, the view's out there." She pointed over Willow's shoulder toward the line of moonlit trees.

"I've got the best view right here." Willow leaned forward to kiss Tara, only to find herself spun toward the window.

"Anticipation, remember?" Tara said playfully, pulling Willow close from behind and kissing her cheek, her neck.

"It's kind of pretty," Willow said, pouting. They watched out the window for a few minutes, enjoying the beauty of the trees bowing and rustling in the wind. "Look at all the little people down there, just walking around. Hello teeny people, up before the sun." Willow waved to the oblivious people.

"You are too adorable," Tara groaned, spinning Willow back around and kissing her again.

"Kitchen in the morning?" Willow asked breathlessly.

"Bedroom now," Tara agreed.

Still holding hands, the pair ran through the suite. Their bedroom was palatial, the king-sized bed covered in pillows and a rich royal blue comforter. There was a large window concealed by curtains in the same deep blue shade, tasseled and covered with embroidery. There was a large, dark wood wardrobe on one wall, and a doorway to their bedroom past that.

"Nice room," Willow murmured.

"Are you really thinking about our hotel room right now?" Tara said with a low laugh, unzipping Willow's fleece and tossing it onto the floor. She thrust her hands under her lover's Tinkerbelle shirt, scratching her back lightly with her nails.

"Tara," Willow moaned. She slipped her hands up under Tara's shirt, unfastened her bra, and began kneading Tara's breasts before the blonde even had time to register that her bra had been unfastened.

"Speedy Willowhands," Tara said, gasping. "I really, really need you to be undressed right now."

"No time," Willow panted. She took three steps back, so that Tara ended up sitting on the bed, Willow standing between her legs.

Tara pushed her hands up under Willow's bra, sighing with pleasure at the velvet smoothness of her lover's skin.

"Love you, Will," Tara whispered, and she moaned, eyes going wide, as she felt Willow's warm, slender hand slip into her jeans, past her panties, to gently cup her mons.

"Tomorrow I'm going to have a talk with you about eating right, because you're clearly getting too skinny if I can do that without even unbuttoning these jeans," Willow said softly.

"But not tonight," Tara asked plaintively.

"Not tonight," Willow agreed solemnly, pressing her hand more firmly as Tara's hips began to rock. "Love you, Tare." She smiled as Tara cried out in delight, moving her hips with increasing speed.

Willow captured Tara's mouth with her own, reveling in the soft warmth of her lips, even as she slipped her fingers up and down, mercilessly stroking. She didn't stop, even when she felt Tara's hands snake down to her waist, felt her own jeans unfastened and pushed to the floor with her an instant she worried if she looked ridiculous, but the warmth of Tara's hands brushing against her thighs left the moment quickly silenced.

And then they were rocking against each other, passionate kisses muffling their little cries of pleasure as their fingers and their hips matched pace. As soon as Willow felt Tara begin to tense and tremble beneath her touch, she dipped back and inside her lover. The clenching heat of Tara's orgasm sent Willow over the edge too, she voiced a ragged cry as Tara sucked her lower lip between her teeth. In a few minutes they both quieted, Tara pulled Willow close and rested her head against Willow's stomach.

"That was wonderful," Willow sighed, kissing Tara's hair.

"Lovin' in London is definitely a must," Tara said. She reached around and took Willow's bottom in her hands, giving each cheek a squeeze, setting Willow squirming playfully. "Willowbutt," Tara said happily.

"My cold butt. And yet I'm still in my new shirt."

Tara smiled up at her lover, thrilled by the joy, the ease she saw in Willow's face, so different from the frightened confusion on the plane. It was just one more example of the power of their love, a reminder of a truth Tara had always known—even in the dark days they'd been apart. Love, their love, was eternal. There was nothing they couldn't survive, together.

"I did promise to get you out of that shirt, didn't I?" Tara asked, standing.

"You did," Willow replied, nodding. She smiled, her tongue sticking out between her teeth for an instant.

"Well, I'm a girl who keeps her promises."

Tara undressed Willow slowly, lovingly, first pulling off her shoes and socks to let her pants drop to the floor, quickly followed by the Tinkerbelle shirt and her bra. When Tara was done, Willow murmured that it was Tara's turn and quickly relieved the blonde of her clothes. They walked, naked, into the bathroom where they found a huge, sunken Jacuzzi tub. They washed one another in the warm bubbly water, and then dried off with unbelievably soft and fluffy ivory towels. Back in the bedroom they dressed in the flannels Giles had promised would be waiting, giggling at the matching lavender plaid. They piled under the comforter and layered sheets, snuggling in with Tara resting her head on Willow's shoulder.

"Good night, baby," Willow whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of Tara's head.

"Night darling," she replied, reaching up to stroke Willow's cheek.

Tara listened to the muffled sound of Willow's heartbeat and let her eyes drift closed. She was just on the edge of sleep, breath going deep and slow, when Willow spoke.

"Baby?" She asked in a tiny voice. "How long till their flight?"

Tara opened her eyes and gave her lover a little squeeze. "Is there a clock you can see, or should we turn on the light?"

"My phone says it's 8:32," Willow replied.

"Less than four hours, then," Tara soothed, snuggling closer. "They'll be here before you know it."

"Good," Willow yawned. When she spoke again her voice was quiet, hesitant. "Things…things are going to get bad in Sunnydale, Tara. Really bad, soon. They'll be safer here."

Tara fought the cold stab of panic she felt at Willow's pronouncement, telling herself that they would face it—face whatever came—together. And when the whole gang, the whole family, was together again, they would all feel better. Family. The thought made Tara still, eyes going wide. _Family._

"Willow," she said softly, rising up on one elbow to look at her lover. "If things are going to get bad, do you need to warn your parents?"

"My folks?" Willow's voice was calm, but completely flat, her face devoid of emotion.

"Willow," Tara said gently, reaching up to brush a lock of autumnal hair off Willow's forehead. "I know you and your parents have never been close, but—"

"You don't know," she interrupted. "You don't know how bad it got."

Tara didn't know what had happened between Willow and Sheila and Ira Rosenberg after her death, but she could see that the pain of it crumpling her lover's face. As she watched, tears welled in the red haired witch's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Tara whispered, stroking Willow's cheek. "I'm sorry that they hurt you, love."

Willow's eyes welled over, a tear slipping down each cheek. "They were never there, not really, so I don't know why it would've been any different when—" she broke off, staring down at the bed.

"No matter what they did, it doesn't stop you from needing them," Tara said, smiling sadly as she thought of her own disastrous family. "I understand."

"I guess you're right." Willow eyes were dry now, filled with the steely determination that Tara so adored. "But it was another life. I shouldn't punish them for something that didn't happen. That will never happen," she said firmly, reaching out to cup Tara's cheek.

Tara nodded. "We'll keep each other safe."

A little smile crossed Willow's face. "Thank you, baby. I'll call them in the morning."

Holding each other tight, Tara sang to Willow wordlessly until they fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.


End file.
